Whispers of Wire
by MsLanna
Summary: Evil death violent mush angst torture fest, normalcy as it can. Tera trying to live normally with the horrors from her past. Set: before Clone Wars to Order 66. Sprinkles of Kom'rk, Clan Skirata, Vau.
1. Entry 1&2

**Title**: Whispers of Wire  
**Timeframe**: Clone Wars and before  
**Characters**: Tera Nuh (OC), Skiratas, Nulls, assorted others  
**Genre**: Diary, evil death violent mush angst torture fest, normalcy as it can  
**Keywords**: Clone Wars, OC  
**Summary**: Taking a life apart, partly rebuilding it and then shattering it again. Probably. The usual things you do to your OC.**  
Author Notes** at the end because, really, who wants to read through the bunch and get bored before the story even started?

* * *

.

.

1.) 19 BBY

How do you leave a legacy?

I don't know, I really have no idea. And maybe I don't have anything to leave either. I will leave that to other to judge. So this is my attempt at a legacy. Maybe somebody will read it someday and find it worth keeping. Maybe not. When I look around and see what is left, I think 'not' is more likely. I want to believe but I can't count the days anymore.

At first I was sure they'd come for me. How could they not? But I feel like breaking. I feel like taking the cowards way out and giving up. But I cannot, not without making the last and most feeble attempts at sanity. Maybe there is at least understanding then, if I am wrong and a black fire _is_ approaching in white rage.

My name it Tera Nuh. I cannot remember the time when it has not been. I cannot remember green pastures. I cannot remember the faces of my parents, if they were happy or not. They were farmers. I think. And one of them had dark hair and both had blue eyes, because that is inherited recessively. More than that, I know nothing. The vague images of sunshine on my face and voices might have come a lot later or just be imaginations.

I don't even know where to start. There seem to be so many things that all turned out to be important. Maybe I can put them all back together. Maybe it will make more sense than it does now. It is not as if I had anything else to do.

I was born.

I grew up.

I must have learnt to read and to write, and to do all the little things that people do.  
I cannot remember, though.  
Sometimes I wished I could.  
It would be nice to have those memories instead of - the ones that are still there.

You cannot see the sad smile I wear. That might be all for the better. I do not know. I know nothing much before the day that is reckoned as my first. Everything I learnt before is dark. I can read and write and do all the small things humans do. And then some.

Maybe I shall start with the some. Start at my second first day among the living.

.

* * *

.

2.) 35 BBY

Somebody kicked me into the face. It was not a very hard kick but it hurt like hell nevertheless. I try to open my eyes, but mostly fail. They are crusted with blood, swollen, I can barely see. The reason my face hurts so badly despite the relatively soft kick is that my nose is broken. I don't know how I know, I cannot see it and all I can feel is pain.

"_Moti_!"

I try to get up. A foot catches me in the ribs and the pain shoots through my whole body. I try to scream, but there's but a hoarse screech. People laugh. I am good sport. But I don't fall to the ground again. That would not help any. I get up. First on hands and knees, only my knees and then I stand on wobbly legs.

"_Shaadla_!"

I don't know where to, so I get pushed around until the general direction is correct. If only I knew what they want. _The same as usual,_ a small voice tells me in my head. I can't remember 'usual'. _That is just as well_, the voice says. There is blood on my hands, the nails are all broken off. I try to run a hand trough my hair but I don't feel much. Pain, yes, but that is a given. If I had the time to concentrate, I might find a bit of me that doesn't hurt. Maybe.

I find trays. I take one and bring it back, careful not to trip. I step over a leg placed in my way. There is laughter. Somebody claps me on the back and I stumble. There is more laughter as I get pulled up again. There are a few hits I don't really know where they land and I find myself off again. Next tray, next attempt.

Their rough voices follow me through the whole day, as do the occasional hits and kicks. I don't remember much in detail. It seems that after the first impression of being me again, it was easier to just have a general impression of the things going on.

"_K'olar_!"

That voice I remember. And it scares me. I know not why. A hand grabs my shoulder and steadies me. This is a first. I steal a glance to the side, but there is no face. Crimson steel stares back at me and a black slit into a bottomless abyss. Parts of me remember now. But it is too late, not that I could have run. I look at the broken nails and know I tried to fight.

I know that nothing helps. And I start to remember. The voice was right that it was better to forget. With his hand on my shoulder steering me along I cannot, though. For a moment I wonder how old I am. Then I wonder if it matters at all. Probably not.

I wonder how I could forget, because this is nothing new. I hurt and it is coming back to me now why. And as he wraps his hand around my neck, I understand why I would want to forget. He can see in the dark and I cannot. The door closes behind him.

"_K'olar_."

The dark whisper is metallic and so is the taste on my tongue. Maybe it is just blood again. My back burns as if on fire when he puts his hand on it, but of course there is no place to scream. I wonder when he had the time to take of the metal from his face. Everything is better than to know. Though there is just a skin's breadth of space and time to be someplace else in my head. Maybe I should be grateful for the pains all over me that are louder than anything else I might feel as his crimson drowns my consciousness.

.

.

.

.

Stand  
Move  
Come here

* * *

**Author Notes**, as threatened:

1) Those of you who know me kno- oh, who am I fooling. *headdesk* Anyway, **I don't rate for fun**. You have been warned. If you are a child and don't get what the fuss is about there are two possiblilities: be grateful for it and dread the day you understand or go and grab a shrink immediately.

b) There is Mando'a in the story. You wanted some translations from the start, so here they are.

Δ)This is a diary. Updates will be short. Seriously, who do you know who writes diary entries several pages long in reality? See? So the updates are short. In compensation they will be weekly. Wednesdays. Notifications substitute for the ability to remember things like that.

Crimson) I like comments.  
No, really, I do.  
So if you think that this has not been as big a waste of time as you thought and hey, it _did _keep you from homework/house work/whatever thing you try to avoid and you feel like maybe making my day - leave a comment. Though it's not as if the lack of comments would stop me anyway, so they really might just be a huge waste of time.


	2. Entry 3

3.) 35 BBY

I wake up because it is rather difficult to stay asleep when he - decided it is time to start the day. He knows I will wake up, of course. I think it is part of the fun. I am still good sport. Most of the aches are healed and there are not many new ones lately. Sometimes I think, I might, maybe, one day live without any pain. Any except this, that is.

But you get used to it. I tell myself. It is but a split morning and the pain will recede through the day. Until nightfall. I try not to think about it too much. I am free with a final grunt and shoved out to get breakfast. I can walk. It is not so bad anymore.

I don't know how many days have passed. In the beginning I tried to count them but that was too painful. Because each day counted meant - this - counted. Over and over, again and again. I did not want to count. I wanted to forget but that small voice told me it was too late for that. I had come back and here I was. Suck it up.

So I did.

Each and every time.

"_Lor'vam copaani_,*" I tell the one in the kitchens. I should be able to tell them apart but somehow I can't. I should look at them in more detail, but I can't make myself. I know that crimson rules my life and that is hard enough to bear. A tray is thrust into my hands and I wander off again.

There was a lot of crimson and black in my life. Some of it even on me, though those were shot through with blue and sickly yellows. There were not so many pains anymore, but less in comparison with what I knew when I came to was a broad word.

He eats.

He shows me how to clean his armour plates.

He watches.

He hits my fingers if I do something wrong.

There are a lot of plates. There are jumpsuits to mend. I can sew.

He looks down at my bent neck and bends it a little further.

I close my eyes.

There is a foul taste in my mouth as I work again. My fingers hurt and they have red marks on them. The nails are mostly broken, but not at a bleeding point anymore.

"_Tengaana norac_!**"

And I obey as there is nothing else to do. The smell of burnt flesh is nauseating. To me, not to him. I do not want to know what they do to my back. He pushes me down on it roughly as soon as they are finished. The pain of it drowns out everything else. I should be grateful for that - maybe.

.

.

.

* (He) Wants breakfast.

** Show your back. Sgould be clear within the next few updates. If not, tell me and I'll link a pic.


	3. Entry 4

_4.) 34 BBY_

I concentrate on the beskar, that is the safest. It is dirty and scraped again, it always is when they return. I do not want to know from where and what. I pick up the pieces and get to work. Keeping the head down, that is one of the secrets. It goes a long way with most of them who will ignore you. It might get Crimson excited but that is better than angry.

"_Ni vaabi bic_," I say with a smile and take the damaged armour.

He pats my head. "_Jate Dal'ika_." No innuendo. As yet. "_Tion norack_?"

I don't even flinch anymore. I just take off my shirt. Still no innuendo, though there is more to see than before. They scrutinise my back. Whatever they are doing with it, they seem satisfied. For now. He shoos me away.

Tidying up the armour is a never-ending story. But it is better than the other things I get to do. And I am good at the maintenance. Probably because it is fun. Probably because I am so meticulous about it so it takes more time. My fingers don't get hurt anymore. They are valuable to keep the armour in good shape.

"_Jate_." He lets me help put the armour on. I understand the workings now, how the pieces come together. The black streaks I remove are shots from blasters. They fight. They kill people and take their money, or they take money to kill people. It is all the same to them.

"_Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur_," he tells me with a broad grin before putting on the helmet.

I nod. If he dies, I am fair game again. I don't like his game, but I don't think anybody else will be any better. "_Akaani jate_."

They leave and those left behind go on about their business. A green one looks me up and down. There is never enough work in the kitchen. But at least he is not into pain. Not much. And so I am not in much pain when they return. Louder than usually, laughing, joking, throwing something to the ground in the main hall.

I go to the kitchen. Men will need to drink at times like this. I can hear the sounds of their amusement, interspersed with tiny squeaks and sobs. I bring beer. I bring nuts. I am going here and there. They ignore me because the other one is more fun.

Crimson takes my arm. He pulls me through the crowd. He is drunk and reckless. He kicks the bundle on the floor and it rolls onto its back. She looks miserable, beat and bloody. She can't even cry anymore, let alone move. I know what she feels like. A dark abyss in my mind opens up and threatens to swallow me again. I remember too much.

They put a bar in my hand. "_Mhi cuy. Ke'vaabi_!"

I stare at the girl. I stare at them. I raise the bar and the darkness breaks loose. It catches Crimson across the collarbone. Then it turns back on me and the world explodes in a way I remember too well.

.

.

.

.

I will do this.  
Good girl, how's the back?  
Today is a good day for somebody else to die.  
Fight well.  
You're one of us. Do it!


	4. Entry 5

5.) 34 BBY

Somebody kicks me into the face. It's not a very hard kick but it hurts like hell nevertheless. I try to open my eyes, but mostly fail. They are crusted with blood, swollen, I can barely see. The reason my face hurts so badly despite the relatively soft kick is that my nose is broken. I don't know how I know, I cannot see it and all I can feel is pain.

"_Moti_!"

I start to get up. A foot catches me in the ribs and the pain shoots through my whole body. I have been here before. I don't scream. Crimson drags me away muttering.

He cleans me up.

It is not all he does while applying water and soap and the lye burns in my wounds and makes me wince and squirm. There is more to clean up afterwards, he leaves me to it. I can almost see again. I hurt all over, outside and inside too. My back is on fire.

"_Ner cuy_," he whispers hoarsely into my ear.

"_Cuun cuy_." Their voices resound in my head. The stink is insufferable. The girl is lying at their feet cowering in panic and pain. Her back is burnt, red all over; on fire as mine is. A huge ugly welt and image is forming there. I don't want to see it. I never wanted to know what they did to my back.

Crimson clamps his hand around my neck. "_Gar cuy cuun_," his breath scorches my ear. "_Darasuum_."

One of the others drags the girl away who dares to glance at me and is rewarded with an elbow in her ribs for it.

I get back to work on crimson armour. I ignore the screams I hear. Everybody else does so, too. I know what will happen if I don't. If I could, I would cry now. And I realise they will do it again. And each time I refuse, this will happen again. I do not want to be one of them. I don't think I can.

.

.

.

.

Stand.  
You're mine.  
You're ours.  
You're ours. Forever.


	5. Entry 6

6.) 33 BBY

The girl, she is a fast learner. She doesn't scream for long. She obeys. She looks at her one as if he was a revelation. She is young. He probably was. She doesn't look at me. I am a failure. It does not count that I didn't take the bar to her. She joins in their jokes and violence. She doesn't mind to go away with any of them. She has sold herself to be free of the pain. Or most of it.

She wears their armour now. It all went so fast. I can't remember if it took long. I feel the same all the time. I don't count the days. She stands among them and laughs. Her eyes are vicious and they don't linger on me. She is one of them. I only belong to one of them.

Crimson knows it. He feels it and and he lets me feel it in return.

"_Gedeti_!"

But I can't and then I am unable to. The ground is cold against my face and my back is burning, burning again. My nose scrapes against the ground until it bleeds. It keeps being scraped against it for a long time after that. Crimson is frustrated. He deals with me in the only ways he knows. And they still hold my arms firmly to the ground because it is the only way to ensure I don't squirm much when they imprint my back with fire.

It is slightly better than the kicks into the stomach. I do not know what good they are for.  
I am a liar.  
I know.  
And I also know that it works. When I wipe up my own vomit and my belly cramps, once again, after such a beating. They know what they are doing. Among all the bleeding I might never have thought of it, but for those moments. And a beating now and then was cheaper than any other precaution and also more fun.

She handles their weapons now and points them at me nonchalantly. The only bruises she has are from the fighting and when she allows one of them to play rough. Nobody needs a permission to play rough with me. I am fair game. Which is not really fair. But then this is life which has nothing to do with fair.

She grins at me and kicks me because she can. They laugh and clap her on the shoulders. Crimson is not interested in what they do as long as my fingers are fine. The do not need my fingers at all.

And then they return again, not alone and the laughter is expectant as Crimson drags me into the circle. They all know what comes next and so do I. I do not want this. I really, really don't. But I have no choice. I take the club they put into my hand. Maybe a single blow would be enough? But what does it matter?

I weigh the wood in my hand. Inside I brace for the pain. There is no place to retreat to but the inside of my head and that is no shelter at all. If I could, I would cry now. I raise the staff and the bit of person quivers below me. Then I swing the weapon as hard as I can and hope my plan is feasible at all.

.

.

.

.

Beg.


	6. Entry 7

7.) 33 BBY

Maybe it is because no matter how much you want to and try to and strain to, the ability to hit yourself is limited that I hear a lot of shouting now. Voices unknown and the people are running around like ants into whose home somebody had thrown a stone.

The girl still lies on the ground and whimpers. She shies away from me. I cannot help her. My head swims, because I managed to hit myself in the end, if not as strong as I had wanted. I didn't even faint.

Nobody is looking at me.

And I run.

If I can make it to the door, I can make it outside. If I can make it outside, I can make it to the vehicles. If I can make it to the vehicles, I can steal one. If I can steal on, I can leave. I have nowhere to go, but this is the one mad dash I will get. I know it. This is now or never.

I pass Crimson in the corridor and he bellows after me. Repercussions will be bad, but I am running on adrenaline and hope. He throws something at me and it buries itself in my back. I have to time to scream. I run.

And then there are more of them. A black one, a brown one, a green one. I don't care. _They will kill you_, whispers the small voice in my head. Yes, I reply. YES!

Picking up the nearest item I throw myself at them. The black one reaches out and a hit of his forearm against my temple turns the world to black.


	7. Entry 8

8.) 33 BBY

I wake up with a headache. In panic I look around, but the surroundings are all strange. So is the bed I lie on. Alone. All on my own. I look around and there is nobody in the room with me. I try to sit up and my head protests. I don't care.

I wear nothing but a nightshirt. But there is no pain, except of that headache. I put a hand to my head and there is a bulge where the gauntlet caught my temple. I wonder where he is. I wonder what he plans to do with me. And I really, really do wonder, because he is not here. A dark voice inside me hopes that he killed Crimson. I might be able to feel a tiny little bit grateful for that, no matter what he was about to do.

The door opens and a man comes in. No metal face, a real man. I stare, I think I gape and then I close my mouth.

He smiles carefully. "How do you feel?"

I have to disentangle the words in my head. I know the language, but I can't remember when I heard it the last time. It doesn't come back to me either. "_Jate_?" I volunteer.

He smiles a little more and nods. "_Tion lor'vam copaani_?*"

I wait cautiously for the catch to show it self but he doesn't look as if he is to throw himself at me any moment. His face is angular and dominated by a huge forehead. His eyes - there is something about his eyes. They look at me strange. I feel I should recognise it but I don't.

Finally he just nods and leaves.

After a while he returns with a tray laden with food. He puts it down on the table beside my bed. "_Haili cetare*_He smiles encouragingly before he leaves again.

For the longest time I just look at the food. Bread. Cheese. Milk and water. I see fresh fruit. Then I dig in as if I had never eaten in my life. I feel all fresh and new. There are no pains. I must have died and gone to heaven. For now. I finish the food picking up the last crumbs.

Then I get up. I wonder what he wants from me. There is a jumpsuit lying over a chair. It is old, but well kept, mended with care like I used to mend. I put it on and feel - strange. Clean. Lost.

The door opens and there he is again, still smiling. "_Jate, gar moti._" He gestures towards the door. "_Shekemi, gedet'ye_*."

I can't remember the last time anybody had said 'please' to me. I don't think it ever happened. Not after day one. I glance at the door, and he just waits. Then I go. There is but a house behind the door. A house with many doors and probably people. I can hear them, but not see them. I look around. He is following me.

A woman with dark hair comes out of a room. She smiles too. "You're up."

"_Shi jorhaa'i Mando'a_," the man tells her. _"Dush tome'tayl ti kyr'tsad*."_

The woman looks sad suddenly, but keeps smiling. "_N'eparavu takisit, ad'ika. Nu'ru'kar'tayli_*. Rav." She puts a fist on her chest and repeats the last word. Then she points at the man. "Kal."

I look from one to the other. "Rav," I repeat as if to myself. "Kal."

They nod and she extends her hand. "_Tion gar gai_*?"

I don't understand. She repeats. Then she repeats her name and Kal's and points at me and I understand. But I have no answer. I cannot remember what I was called before my world turned crimson. "_Dal'ika_*?" I guess. It was the thing he called me when in a good mood. In bad moods, I didn't get a name at all.

Rav shakes her head. "_Gai nu'cuy. Mhi ven'mar'eyi gai, ad'ika_*." She takes my hand and shows me the house. The doors are not locked. I look outside and the plain is full of snow. I close my eyes and inhale the freezing air.

"She cannot stay," she says behind me to him. I think he nods, but he doesn't say anything.

.

.

.

.

.

* Do you want breakfast?  
* Dig in. (Literally: fill your boots)  
* Good, you can stand. Please follow me.  
* She speaks only Mando. Bad experiences with the Death Watch.  
* Sorry child, I didn't know.  
* What's your name?  
* means 'little woman'  
* That's not a name. We will find a name, child.


	8. Companion Vig 1: Vau

Walon Vau

Death Watch now, I have no problem moving against them. _Shabla hut'uune _all of them. They make good adversaries because they have the same equipment. It is a challenge you don't often get. Of course, I have to share it with Skirata again. _Shabla_, soft hearted _di'kut_. But when there is a chance to fight against what he perceives a threat to the Mando name, he'll be there. _Osik_.

So we break through the doors together and shouts echo through the hall as we force our way. Unexpected as we crash their little party, some of the idiots have already armoured down. Much too easy. I hope that some of them had their _mirshe_ together. We take down the first wave easily. Korena doesn't even bother to raise her blaster. She's mapping the corridors and scanning for the target. Then she relays the information to our displays.

Most of them are in the main room. These guys are just too predictable. But they got the wrong toy this time. Credits run in the family of the girl and her father was put out at the idea somebody should dare to capture his little princess. I hope he'll manage to live with the shape in which we'll bring her back.

Kal is intent on getting towards the centre of the house, the large room into which most of the other rooms open. The girl won't be dead by a long stretch, but he is too soft. Always will be and that Ilippi left him taking the kids with her did not help any. Though nut as he tries to be. It's almost pathetic. But he keeps going and his anger can fuel some good work.

A guy in crimson armour appears at the other end of the corridor, shouting. Only then I see the tiny bit of person running towards us with madness in her eyes. Her face is drawn, dirty, bleeding. The _chakaar_ throws something that buries itself in he back but she doesn't even slow down. I am not sure she even notices.

Then she sees us and her eyes break. Picking up something from the floor in full run, amazing feat, actually, she tries to attack us. Silly bit. Now this _is_ pathetic. A short blow of my arm strikes her unconscious. We have no time for this.

A well aimed shot from Kal throws the crimson clad enemy back against a wall. Within seconds he is turned into a modern art sieve. Red flows from the spaces between the armour plates and joints, joining the crimson colour of his plates. A last shot to where a sensible Mandalorain would be wearing a neck seal and he is done for. Not as good sport as expected. Death Watch is losing it. A shame, really.

As expected the girl is still alive and looking ready for transport. When she sees Kal she conveniently faints. And this kid is supposed to be worth twenty grand? I am not going to judge on that. Korena picks her up and we make our way back. Too bad there had not been more of them. It is convenient to take out as many of them at a time as you can. It's not as if anybody bothered to tell apart Death Watch and the rest of us. And that is bad business.

On the way out we pass by that crazy bit again. She is still unconscious but the crimson armoured man has thrown a great knife after her. He must have acquired it on some raid or other. Knives like that don't come cheap. And it is such a beauty; too good to go to waste. I crouch down and pluck it from her back. She doesn't even wince.

I wipe the blood off on her shirt, which is a task in itself. And then Kal's do-gooder instinct kicks in again as a glaring scar becomes visible on the small of her back. Come to think of it, there is a bit looking our of her collar. Kal is down beside me in a second but I get up. This is not my problem.

The scar reaches all over her back, an ugly weld, the middle spikes of the emblem reaching from her tail-bone up to the hair line at her neck. The outer wings of the stylised W reach over her shoulder blades, the rib cage almost closing in around her waist. It is a good thing that we checked on the life signs of those we killed because if there had been any doubt, Skirata would just have gone back now and killed them dead again. And then some. Soft _di'kut_.

I can see him bristle from up here. The do-gooder in him is unstoppable. He lugs the kid over his shoulder. There's not much to carry with her, her bones seem ready to poke through her skin. And still she would have fought us. I would put my money on her rather than Korena's load. But I don't have to. This is not my problem.


	9. Entry 9

9.) 33 BBY

I wake up and there is no pain. The bed beside me is empty. This is Kal's house and he is different. _Kyr'tsad_ he called them and made a disgusted face. And Rav made a disgusted face too and gave me sweet cake with nuts on top.

Pity.

That is the thing in their eyes I could not place. They pity me. And the longer I stay and look around the more I understand why. Or not. I am disgusted. With myself, too. I am not a person, I am defiled, dirty, ugly - unmentionable. I don't look at my body which cannot be made right again. I ball my hands into fist and wish I was dead because nothing can make me right again. I should not be. I am an insult.

But Kal looks at me with those blue eyes and I cannot tell him. I do not want him to see how corrupted I have become, how foul they made me. They talk about sending me away. I approve and I am scared. I like it here where there is nothing to do but simple house work and nobody plays rough with me and nobody hurts me.

Rav shows me small things that people do. Kal is away a lot and looks unhappy most of the time. I do not ask and Rav does not explain, but she looks at me in a way that says she knows, she sees it too, but there is nothing to be done about it. I make cake with nut topping and it tastes almost as good as hers. Kal approves and I feel glowing.

"_Jate, ad'ika_," he says, because I flinch when he calls me little woman. He could also call me Tera, but names are for people who don't know your soul. He has seen it and still he looks at me and sees my face and there is no need for him to call me my new name. "Would you like to go to a school?"

I know what school is, but the concept doesn't apply to me. I tilt my head and look at him. "_Tion __hibira_, Kal?" I cannot think of anything I want to do. I like it here with nothing around to do. It is as good as hiding.

He smiles. "_Mhi ven'mar'eyi jate vencuyot par gar_." And he tells of small planets with few people where I can live a life like this if I want to.

I like the idea. I smile and nod. "_Jate_."

"_Gar ke'hibira standard, ad'ika_." He pats my head and I understand that not everybody talks in this language which good and bad people somehow share. But that is fine. I understand and I can learn to speak again.

.

.

.

.

.

To learn what?  
We will find a good future for you  
You must learn standard, child.


	10. Entry 10

10.) 32 BBY

The sun sets and the whole sky is aflame in pastel colours. I love the sunset. From the day I arrived here all scared and lonely. But Chandrila is no place to be lonely. It is a wonderful place to be, calm weather, small communities and a strong social network among them. I stand at the very end of the garden behind the meticulously kept flower beds, behind the small pond with its huge tree.

I come here to watch the sunset every evening. I am happy. Nobody here knows much about my past. All they know is that I fell on horrible times and my uncle desperately needed a quiet home for me. Kal had played his part well. He's a great actor.

And so I had said goodbye to my 'uncle' and started a small life in a small village. The people were kind. A family took me in, their daughter had left to study on Coruscant. A planet that was but a city. I could not wrap my head around the idea. Why anybody would want to go there escaped me even more. I like it here. I like Jan and Erina who care for me as if I was their daughter. They never were allowed to have a second child. They miss Ria a lot but she won't come back except for occasional visits. She likes Coruscant.

I keep the flower beds tidy and the vegetable garden. I look after the fruit trees and make breakfast and dinner for everybody. Jan keeps telling me to go and get an education. Then I could go and earn money and help the family. Not that they need helping. Their income is stable. Everything here is stable. Maybe even I am.

Sometimes I write to my 'uncle' and get very short replies. I am not sure if it hurts, Jan said it might. It is a new power to me, being able to hurt others. I do not know how to handle it. I make mistakes and others are sad. But others also make mistakes and then I am sad. It is, all in all, fair. And Jan wants me to be my own person. He thinks that you need an education and a job to be your own person. When I look at the house I live in, I know what he means. But I don't agree.

I don't want to agree. I want to spend the rest of my days making breakfast for everybody and putting parsley on the dishes to make them look pretty. It is difficult to know that he thinks I cannot be happy like this. It makes him unhappy that he thinks I am not happy. And that makes me unhappy.

So I stand here, evening after evening and wonder what education I want to have. It doesn't matter much in the end. I talk to Jan and Erina and find out what they think would make me happy. Because if they believe it makes me happy, they will be happy, and so will I.

The last rays of the sun caress my face. Happiness is important. I didn't know. I try not to think about the times when I didn't know. I feel all slimy inside when I do. And that is another thing I do not think about. Because when I see Jan look at Erina, I know that no man will look at me like that if he knew about my past. And, come to think of it, I am not sure I could stand any man to look at me like that.


	11. Entry 11

11.) 31 BBY 

His name is Nanek and he is a man. He looks at me and smiles and I smile back at him over the books stacked up between us. Molecular biology is fun, but with Nanek it is the best thing in the world.

"Your promoter elements are incorrect," he says. "Your plasmid will explode."

I laugh and see that he is right. That means I have to start again from the beginning but that is fine. He brings another cup of tea and looks over my shoulder while I put down the expression vector. Then I take the time to really think about the promoter elements. And we talk about it and the tea gets cold.

The tests are difficult but I like them. I can show that I learnt everything and so does Nanek. We compare our results and are always among the best.

He takes my hand and looks very happy. "Let's celebrate," he says. And we go and have cocktails in a small tapcafe and watch the sun set. He puts his arm around me and walks me home through the blue air of the evening. I am still, concentratedly ignoring the crimson haze springing up around me.

"You are beautiful," he says and I laugh. I know I am not, not really, because my nose was broken and never really set straight. But he looks into my eyes, so maybe the nose doesn't matter. And he pushes a strand of hair from my face and tries to place it behind my ear. But the wind catches it again.

His hand lies against my cheek and I feel my face turn red. "Tera."

My name stands against the dark sky and feels very out of place. His hand is hot against my cheek. He doesn't seem to notice and runs his thumb over my lips. I feel the small pains slowly move up my legs. I want to run.

Nanek looks at me and the dark sky in his eyes is shot through with crimson.

"_Gedet'ye*_," the words tumble out of my mouth and I want to run. He does not understand them but it doesn't matter because I do and the crimson never stops.

He takes his hand away and I relax as the flood recedes a little. "Are you okay?"

I shake my head to make the red go away.

"Tera, look at me!" He reaches out again and burns my face with his hand.

I run.

.

.

.

.

.

* Please


	12. Entry 12

12.) 30 BBY

I could not do it. I stare at the door where he left and am not sure if I am sad or relieved. I think both. Nanek was kind, he really was. He is in my year and we have courses together. Jan and Erina were very happy with my choice of Environmental Studies. So I was happy too. But not for long. The studies were boring. There was nothing to interest me.

After half a term I changed my subjects to Molecular Genetics and Mutation Theory. That was a lot more interesting. I don't know why many other students didn't like it. You got to calculate a lot and do simulated test and had to learn a lot of things by heart.

Nanek also likes numbers and we teamed up for experiments and always got good grades. He came to my place to study and I went to his place to study and one day he took my hand and said he wanted to go out with me. He looked at me not quite like Jan looks at Erina. I was scared and I couldn't reply.

He didn't say anything. A week later he asked again. He was very kind about it. And so we went out together. It was easier than I thought. We had tea in a small tapcafe and talked. And he held my hand and looked at me and smiled a lot and seemed happy. And I smiled and was happy, too. And scared. Because the hand he held was not mine and when it was, it was tinged with crimson.

We went to have tea for a long time and we saw holovids and he put his arm around me and I laid my head on his shoulder and made myself not be a part of it. Then one day he held me close and said I was the most wonderful girl he had ever known and that he was really, really happy to have met me. And I smiled up at him and he put his lips on mine and I closed my eyes and there was only crimson.

He was very kind about that too. And there was a long time we only talked. And then he kissed me again and it was easier. But not easy. And I put my mind in places where there was no crimson. But there was no Nanek either, there was nothing. Nanek tried and I tried and today we both tried very hard.

But when he laid me back and his lips wandered down my throat there was crimson all over me and I screamed. And he looked at me and was sad. And I could not tell him what it was because then he would not look at me sad but not at all. Who could look a past like mine in the face and smile? I could not. I could not tell him and there was the pain again, as if Crimson had been right back and I held myself.

If I could cry, I would cry now.

But I cannot. I cannot be with a nice guy like Nanek. I will just be with myself. I cannot hide the slimy cold that is my past from me. With closed eyes I saw them again and their leers and laughter and I wanted to die. But that I cannot anymore. Jan and Erina would be so sad.

So I stare at the closed door and try to think of something that is happy. There is not much. Nanek does not look at me anymore. As we we never spend time drinking tea and watching holovids. It hurts very much. But, honestly, to think about what was to come hurt worse - different, intangibly, entangled with me.

I could not write to Jan and Erina about this. So I wrote to my uncle. He doesn't answer. I think he has forgotten about me. Or he didn't like me anymore. He called me Ruusaan once and then was all silent for the day. I think I hurt him. It is better that I am gone. But I have nobody to write things like that to, so I write him still. Sometimes. When it hurts so bad that I do not much care if he hurts too when he gets those letters. He never answers anyway.

I am sorry _ba'vodu_. I really am.


	13. Entry 13

13.) 29 BBY

I graduate on a Thursday. Jan and Erina come to see me standing among the other students. They look proud and happy. They also look old. I take my diploma and smile at them. Nanek is behind me, I am the first, the best of my class. There was something I could concentrate on after he was gone.

I concentrated on studying. I did really nothing else. I did not meet with other young men, the fear of the crimson flood always lingering in the back of my mind. I look at Nanek and know I cannot outrun it. It will always be there and faster than me.

I walk up to Jan and Erina. They embrace me and congratulate me. We have lunch in a posh cantina with sparkling wine. I tell them about my first job. I could pick and choose. I am the best of my year. And I will go to the Hanna Wild Game Preserve. They are studying a new mutation there and I will help pick the genome apart and compare it to the old one and see what the mutations do.

I am happy with the two and it is a very nice afternoon. They get onto the bus and I wave goodbye. I pack my bags and clean my room. It was nice to be here. And it hurt to be here. And now I will go and do something to occupy me because I cannot go to live a simple life and make breakfast and cake in my house.

I will find another future.


	14. Entry 14

14.) 27 BBY

.

Again I pack my bags and clean my room. This job was fun in a routine and boring way. It was not very exciting. But that was not the point, really. I have excelled again. I had no distractions. I concentrate on the work ahead and there is nothing in my head that is not bent on solving the problem before of me.

And solve we did. And we were faster than intended and now we can go on a holiday before the next assignments start. Everybody is laughing and excited. They joke and promise to write each other. Nobody promises to write me because they don't know what about. I do not care for the things they do when there is no work. I do not know the names of their families and the pets they have and the holovids they watch and the novels they read.

They do not know that about me either, but they do not know that there is nothing to know. Maybe they know and do not believe. I find novels boring because they tell me nothing about my life. Janice once gave me a romance novel, very exciting she promised and a little nasty. It was about a woman who fell in love with a man but things were complicated and a little violent. I was supposed to believe that she didn't mind the violence in the end because she was in love. I did not. I gave the novel back and only read the summaries on the holonet for the following ones until Janice found out and stopped giving them to me.

I tried to read other novels, but there was violence in most of them or they were about nothing that mattered and a waste of time. In the time it takes to read a novel I can take a string of DNA apart and define its properties. In the time it takes to read a novel, I can state and prove a hypothesis. In the time it takes to read a novel I can stand and look at the stars.

I write to Jan and Erida and tell them nothing about this. I am anchored on Chandrila and that has to be enough.


	15. Entry 15

15.) 25 BBY

The nomadic life of a biological engineer fits me rather well. I get to know a lot of people a little, but none of them very well. I like it that way. I am never in any danger to try a relationship again. I met another nomad soul and she showed me to research on human biology. It is interesting and sometimes, at night, I think what I could do to Crimson with knowledge like that.

Qail can be difficult at times as she is opinionated and very convinced of her own abilities. She shows me how to stand my ground and how not to back down. So far nobody hit me for it. It is an interesting discovery. Nobody lays a hand on the other in this society and it would be so easy. They fight with words and more words and often they win.

Except against Qail. She stands like a queen. She doesn't back down and the red strands in her black her burn like fire. I like her.

"You don't win your arguments by just being right," she says, shaking her head. "You have to show that they are in the wrong. Only if you pull the ground out under them will they even _begin_ to consider your point."

We work on reprogramming the cells of an elderly baron on a backwater planet. He has come to money in ways I don't want to know. Qail doesn't care. She likes getting money, but she would do it all for the challenge of it. So we fight with words, we talk away whole nights and I get better in talking others into corners.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to the girl that only wanted to be a happy housekeeper for the rest of her life. But she met Nanek and that was that. I look at my hands and try to think of any one of the men I know with his hands on my skin and his lips in the vicinity of my face. I want to scream until the crimson leaves.

We find a small miracle for the elderly baron. His cells will stop degenerating for a bit. They will just stop doing anything, so he better not cut himself with a knife. He can turn on and off the ageing of his cells now. It is a cheap triumph we tell him, but he doesn't believe it. He probably didn't pay attention in biology class when they taught that cell division was necessary for anything.

We move on. We go our separate ways, but I keep writing to Qail. There are many things I can tell her now. I do not write to my uncle that often any more. I would forget about him if he had not taken my life from them and given it back to me. Or more precisely given the remains of it back to me. Sometimes I sit in the darkness and stare at the shattered pieces that won't fit together again.

I wonder if they would look better had Kal come sooner. It is a moot speculation and usually followed by things I can do to purge the crimson out of my life. But I know it won't work. There is no bleach for lives. And no amount of bleach would change my past from murky to shiny. If it was not for the people who looked out for my happiness, I might just have stopped.

So I write to Jan and Erina instead. There is always a reason to write to them if only to remind myself that they are there. I visit them as often as I can. They have lost two daughters now and I am sorry. They are happy for me. So I write them long letters about everything and nothing because they deserve to be happy.


	16. Entry 16

16) 23 BBY

The sun sets and the whole sky is aflame in pastel colours. I stand at the very end of the garden behind the meticulously kept flower beds, behind the small pond with its huge tree and feel aflame myself.

Jan is dead. Erina is crying inside the house. I am not crying, if I could, I would do so now. Instead I stare the sunset down until it flees behind the horizon. They called me in Shili, it was only a small congress. I left immediately and everybody was very understanding. I did not tell them that he was not my real father. He was the only father I knew. I had found shelter here and peace. And pieces of myself I had thought lost.

And now he was gone and there were bits of me flying away in all directions leaving me more shattered than I had ever imagined. I had not seen him often lately, I had been so busy. And when I think of Erina in the house I dare not go to her. I feel like an intruder because I have been gone so much. The twilight settles slowly and the first stars come to gawk at me.

I wish to return to them because I am not attached to much out there. I can ignore almost everything. I am almost all alone and nobody really cares. And when crimson dreams haunt my nights, soon I might be able to just give up. I close my eyes and treasure the moment.

Erina is very silent. I try to talk to her and she tries to smile but her heart is not in it. I know how much his death shook me; I don't want to know how bad it is for her. Just another reason to never get into a relationship; apart from the crimson screaming bits. I hold her hand, because Jan cannot do it anymore.

"He was the best of men," I tell her. And I mean it. After I had been carelessly scraped off the bottom of misery he had been there to help me. He had tried to turn the shards of me into a person. It was not his fault that he didn't know about the bits which made that impossible. I hold Erina's hand and listen to her stories.

I leave again in the grey morning. She looks fragile and I ask if I should not better stay. But she smiles and shakes her head. So I leave. And a few month later the message reaches me that she is gone too. Followed Jan because she was too lonely otherwise.

I look at the stars.

I write Qail. Maybe there will be no answer. I am not sure if I hope for that.


	17. Entry 17

17.) 22 BBY

Qail does not answer my calls.

Qail does not reply to my letters.

I stand and look out of the window of my room. If I think, I will know where I am, but it doesn't really matter. I am working on humans again. Why do they always want to change who they are? I tamper with their colours and afflictions. I see no need to change any of them. They are whole and their past is free and goes all the way to their birth.

But I pick up the strands of their genes and change them anyway. There is good money in this and I have no scruples. That is what they say. I will do anything. But I do not. If it is not a challenge I don't want it. I am like Qail now, looking for the challenge because there is more than enough money. That is what they say. I have a small piece of plastic that buys anything I want. I rarely want something.

I bought a beautiful dress once and never wore it. I find no use for dresses. I wear jumpsuits and the people look at me and see a biological engineer. They whisper about me, but never where I can hear, because I am good at what I do and they need me. They think I will turn upon them if I hear them call me crazy or scary or arrogant.

Do they know that those are only words? Do they know that no words in this language have any power to hurt me? Names might hurt me. I work with a man named Kallar. I wince every time they call for him. They do not see the hurtful words in crimson hovering over me when they say it.

_K'olar._

And I shake my head and concentrate on the tangle of molecules before me, trying to find the best way to extract superoxide without breaking the double helix and mutate it in unwanted ways. The task itself is easy when done in a laboratory, it just turns complicated when applied to living beings. There are not many ways to extract superoxide that don't involve a certain damage to things like membranes.

With a sigh I try again and only burst small holes into the sheet of single-layer membrane. Why don't the globular proteins work for this? I rub my eyes and draw some more charts. There has to be a way, I just have to find it.

The others return and with them the crimson noise of Kallar's name. I have to leave, just taking my pencils and flimsies along. _K'olar! Cuun cuy, darasuum. _I hear the words that hurt and sit down in a silent corner. Maybe it does not matter if I find a way or not. I cannot stay here. The past keeps catching up with me, no matter how far I get.

I close my eyes and think of Qail who doesn't answer my calls.

Nobody left to answer my calls. Only calls for Kallar echoing in my head. Maybe it is time to go. I don't know where to, there is nowhere really. But nowhere is as good a place as any I can think of. I think of black untouched by crimson smears behind my eyes. It doesn't matter that he might have won if I give up. The prospect of unsullied black forever appeals to me, and even Qail has stopped replying.

I am alone in this corner, this house, this world, and when I look up, there is an empty galaxy looking back, winking with its stars. I smile. There is nobody left to be disappointed.


	18. Entry 18

18.) 22 BBY

Kal wrote.

I don't know how he found me and why after all those years. I didn't expect to hear from him ever again. He was a saving anchor back in the days and I would have remembered him like that. Which doesn't do him justice by far. He knows my past and he called me _ad'ika_ in the letter. He wants me to write back. He wants to see me again. He has problems and he wants me to try and help.

Of course I will go. He was the only help I got in a hopeless world. He and Rav. I have not heard of her either. Maybe he knows where she is. I need to thank her for finding me Chandrila.

So here I am, en route to Ord Mantell, a planet that just a short time ago has been a lawless place. But that is the past. The Jedi have brought peace to it somehow and now it is just another piece in the jigsaw of the war. Oh yes, there is a war waging across the galaxy. Or so you are supposed to believe. I have been around a lot before and the small infightings and brushfires between planets had looked a lot like what is going on now.

I wish I could talk to Qail about this. She would not understand about the commitment I feel because nothing so bad ever happened to her, but she is the only person I count almost as a friend. We spent whole nights discussing the human genome and its possibilities. I think she managed to secure a job with some military or other, though I am not sure what use they would have for a genome tamperer.

I watch the Jubilee Wheel come closer and closer. It is exciting in a way. After all the years that I have been travelling the galaxy, meeting strange people with strange customs and even stranger requests, what really gets me nervous is meeting somebody I know. Maybe because I know so few people. Maybe because it matters what Kal thinks of me when the opinions of others don't.

_You saved me, ba'vodu, by now you really did._

I step off the transport into the vast halls of the Wheel's hangars. I drift with the crowds not sure where to go. I have no directions. The Jubilee Wheel he said and here I am. I find a quiet corner in a hallway and stare out of the viewport. Ord Mantell lies below me like a marble.

"_Su cuy'gar_." Long lost words hit my ears.

I whirl around and there is a brown one and a white one beside him and my body takes over. I have no weapon but my satchel. I swing it at them. The white one catches it easily, wraps it around his wrist and pulls. I let him have it and prepare for a fight. Crimson fills my vision and my hands connect with hard plates I hoped to never see again.

"_Kyr bal haraan bal aaray bat gar_!" I scream. But it is no use. Like all those years ago. If I could cry, I would do so now. (Death and annihilation and pain on you!)

White holds me in a joint lock and easily drags me off. "_Nu'kaab_." It is the softest threat I have ever heard. My shoulders ache and small pains creep back into my body. Pains I had all but forgotten about. I really wished I could cry. The door closes behind us and he drops me to the floor. I wait because I have no hurry to bring old horrors back onto myself.


	19. Entry 19

19. ) 22 BBY

"You didn't tell me she was so jumpy," a dark voice suddenly says.

"I must have forgotten."

My head whips up. "Kal!"

His face looks out from the brown beskar. He is the brown one. An image rises from the back of my memory. I ran, there was a piece of girl lying on the ground and I ran. Right into a brown one of them and a black one and a green one, only that they are not of them. I shake my head violently, but the image doesn't go away.

"_Val'cuy dar_!*"

"Off the bat crazy," the voice comments.

I look up and there is a man standing next to Kal, looking very young with old eyes. He has his helmet under his arm and I can see it is not even like Kal's. It is white with blue applications but the shape of the visor is different and so is his whole armour. Slowly I stand up and take the design in. "_Kyr'tsad dar balyc_,*" I decide and feel like a human being again.

White takes offence, but a glance from Kal calms him down in a heartbeat. "_Tengaana norac, ad'ika_." He tells me softly.

I stare at him for a second but he is not them. I pull up the back of my shirt and turn to White, never taking my eyes of Kal. The old man nods with a smile. All will be well, says his glance. I trust him. He took me in and no advantage. He knows my past and still looks into my face.

White hisses between his teeth. "_Shabla hut'uune_." He pulls my shirt down again. "Sorry, little one."

I turn and look at him. He is sorry. His eyes are darker than before now, almost black, and I don't now if he's all soft or burning anger. "It is past," I tell him. I want to believe it too.

"Kom'rk," he introduces himself. "Kal said you might be good help with some delicate problems we have."

"Whatever." I don't even need to think about it. I look at Kal and he seems embarrassed by what he sees. I remember that he cut the contact for a very long time. "_N'eparavu takisit,_" I add hastily. "_Ru'kadala, nu'copaani. Haat, ijaa, haa'it_!*"

He looks sad suddenly and shakes his head. "_An jate, ad'ika_."

I feel my whole body relax at those words. I hadn't known I was waiting for them. I hadn't known I was so desperate for them. All is well. He said so. And I believe him. No matter what. "What can I do?"

.

.

.

.

* You're not one of them!  
* You are not Death Watch either.  
* Sorry, I hurt you, I didn't want to, I swear!


	20. Entry 20

20.) 21 BBY

I am in Kyrimorut again. I didn't know it had a name the first time around. Kyrimorut. I like the sound of it. _They_ did not name it. I do not want this language to be tainted by them anymore. I make breakfast again and cake. Kom'rk likes it and so does Jaing who looks just like him and Ordo and Mereel. Clones, I didn't really grasp the concept until I saw them next to each other.

I take blood samples and look at the genetic material. I wish for Qail because she'd know how to help. But she has gone into complete hiding. When I asked Kal about her he looked at me in a funny way and shook his head. Seems he cannot find her either.

"I need better equipment," I tell Kom'rk. "I cannot work here, there is too much missing." I tell him about the institutes I have been at and the laboratories I know.

"Did you ever experiment with humans?" he wants to know.

I blush and look at my feet. "No. But sometimes, I dreamt of what I could do to - a man from my past with my knowledge."

He lays a hand on my back and it burns in a different way. "He'd deserve all of it."

I keep looking at my feet. His hand keeps burning my back and I find no words to say. He is a good guy and he doesn't know much about my past. I want to keep it that way. I like how he looks at me as if I was a person. I step away from his hand. "Can you find me a place to work?"

He smiles one of those smiles that is all hard angles and cutting edges. "One of my easier tasks."

And off he is, looking for a place for me to go and search through everything that may help while I keep the data company. I feel young around them, younger than them even though they are only ten years old in normal time. Twenty years in their fast forward world and the things they have seen and done make them old. I almost feel sheltered.

"There's a bankrupt little university on Ketaris," Kom'rk tells me with a grin. "They might do quite a lot for money."

I look up from the screen and smile. "That's good. I have money."

"If Kal'buir lets you." They call him _buir_ and I cannot bring myself to call him _ba'vodu_ to his face. He is in and out of the place, calling me _ad'ika_ as he does with everybody and I have nothing to offer in return. I look back to the schematics on the screen. If only I found something to give back. Only the smallest, slightest little something. But I have the whole genome to look through. And that is huge in itself and intimating in triplicate.

"ARC trooper data," Kom'rk says, giving me a small package.

I take it carefully. Blood and skin and hair. Samples to enlarge the already daunting amount of data. But I cannot dare to be wrong. The more data I can compile, the better I can see where they differ all in the same way. I wish I could get my hands on some original DNA, but young Boba has vanished beyond even the long arm of Kal.

"You will move in a few days." Kom'rk puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it softly. I only wish I could do more as I look up at him.

He stands behind me and stares at the screen over my shoulder. I like that. He sees things, small things, thing I overlook. "I wish I had perfect recall," I sigh.

He looks at me sad and strange. "No," he replies. "No, you don't."


	21. Entry 21

21.) 21 BBY

Tomorrow I will leave Kyrimorut. I don't like the idea because I still like it here very much. But Ketaris is waiting. They have laboratories there and fine equipment; I can do better work there. I rub my neck and try to find something to show before the morning. I want to help. I really do. I have nothing else and Kal asked me. He calls me _ad'ika_ though he knows where I come from.

Rav sent her regards when I enquired after her with thanks. And the black one is Vau and off with Kal on another mission. I am no fighter. I stay where I am, all alone in a big house accompanied by data more valuable than lives. I look through the files they have and read everything they give me. The guys age fast. They have been made that way, I don't know why. I think it is a neat idea to stop it. I don't have the slightest idea how to do it.

"I can completely stop the cell division," I tell Kom'rk, "but that doesn't solve the problem the least."

I like Kom'rk. He thinks faster than me and around corners I don't even realise are there. If he put his mind to it, he would surely solve this mess faster than I do. But he has no time. Each moment here is stolen from his time with the army. Each moment here is an extra that he is not entitled to. There is hope in his eyes when he looks at me sitting before my screen and I like that, too.

He screams in the night and I run through Kyrimorut as if it is on fire. But there is nothing, only darkness in his room and that scream. I call his name but he doesn't hear me. As if he is trapped in the sound. I turn on the light, but he doesn't notice. He has the blanket all the way up over his head and when I pull it back his eyes are closed fast and he looks the way I feel inside when there is only crimson in my dreams.

I stand beside his bed and cannot make myself heard. He sits up, the eyes wide open with a sudden, but he sees nothing, hears nothing. And I put my hand on his shoulder because I can see the small pains in his face and the tautness of his body. Nobody should suffer from those.

He looks up when he feels my hand on his shoulder, and there is the emptiness in his eyes that I long for in my crimson nightmares. Then he moves and I feel my arm explode in pain and my face hits the floor. His knee comes down between my shoulder blades and the pain in my face is cooled by the cold of the floor.

But the screaming stopped. Relief floods me because now the small pains have no way into my head anymore, they cannot creep under my skin and fill my insides. Pain is running up and down my arm and I bleed from the lip all over the floor. "Bother," I whisper to myself.

Suddenly the pressure is gone. The pain remains and I don't move.

After a long while his face appears in my field of vision. His eyes are almost black and I smile at him because he is back to normal. "Don't scare me like that," I say. "I don't want you to suffer from the small pains."

He doesn't seem to understand but that is good. That is _very_ good. Carefully he sits me up and the pain in my arm proves to be a dislocated shoulder. I close my eyes. "Just straighten it again."

Nothing happens. "Please?"

He puts something soft between my teeth and I look at it. It's just cloth. I look at him and smile right until he pushes at my shoulder. I don't scream because it is just one of the big pains, the ones that are healed easily enough. "_Vor'entye_." I take the cloth from my mouth and wipe at my lip and then at the floor.

He simply watches. I glance up but it doesn't make any sense. I wipe the last of the blood away. "Do you want sweet tea and uj before you try to sleep again?"

"Only if you have some, too." His voice is as black as his eyes.


	22. Entry 22

22.) 21 BBY

.

We sit in the kitchen. "Tell me about the small pains," he says and looks very serious.

I push the cake around on my plate. I do not want to tell him. I want him to think I am a person. I cannot look at him. I stare at my plate. I press my lips together and open my mouth in turns. I really want him to think I am alright.

He gets up with a sudden, walks around me and pulls up the shirt of my pyjamas. I wince when he traces the thing on my back with a finger. "Tell me."

I ball my hands into fists. I don't know where to start. "If you tell me about yours." It is a last desperate attempt at silence.

Carefully he puts his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs rubbing my neck thoughtfully. "I will," he says and the crimson that started to rise from the floor rushes away through an unseen gutter.

I hoped he'd refuse. He doesn't. I spread my hands on the table before me. "He wore crimson," I begin and my voice trembles. "I don't remember anything from before, but that morning I woke up and crimson ruled my world."

The thumbs never stop their slow motions. It is almost hypnotising. So I tell him about the big pains that were easy and the small ones that are still slimy and difficult and the way I could not count the days and how kicking me in the stomach was useful and fun and how I did not take the bar to the girl and how that did not matter.

"Tell me," he repeats.

With the circling fingers on my neck cold words start to spill from me, all over the place in all their putrid details and they would not stop. Just as he does not stop rubbing my neck the words do not stop and bury me in the cold filth of my past. My lips quiver but they plough on through what suddenly seems to be years of small pains and burning flesh. But the crimson flood doesn't come. I fling out the hidden bits and the terrifying triggers and they are right back, holding me down with their voices and drowning me with the touch of their hands and soiling me already with their thoughts, let alone their deeds.

But the crimson flood doesn't come.

In the end I find myself mute and crying, sitting in the kitchen of Kyrimorut. The air is cold on my bare back but there are hands on my shoulders and his thumbs were still massaging my neck. There is nothing to do, so I just keep crying. My shirt makes a convenient handkerchief. I hiccough on my sobs and fall silent. It is a huge silence that fills the whole room.

Kom'rk, pats my shoulders softly, pulling the shirt down again and he pulls a chair up next to mine and sits down. Then he eats my cake.

"_T'ad simire par t'ad simire_," he says.

And he starts telling me how it is, to have perfect recall in a cold world. And a scary world where there are only his brothers and an environment bent on killing them, breaking them, shaping them.

I put my arm around his shoulder, stroking his dark hair as his words fall down around us like dead birds. He remembers everything. Everyday as if it was just yesterday; every shot fired, every punishment dealt, every scream, every bland meal, every sudden sound. And his small pains are made up of reflecting eyes and slender necks bending over him.

I pull his head against my shoulder and the muffled voice speaks words of pain and hatred that I know. They speak of impotent anger and fear and the recurring pain I know in different colours and I bury my hand in his hair. I wonder if it is possible that anybody had it worse then me, his black voice fills the kitchen. "I will kill her, if I see her again."

"What has been engineered, can be taken apart," I say and have charts tumbling through my head. "I know ways that will not only kill a human."

"It's a pity he is already dead," Kom'rk answers and his breath bounces off my collarbone. "I can think of many ways to bring about his death in a prolonged and painful way."

We agree and it feels good to know that his white hate understands the crimson pains I know. We make plans for painful and prolonged deaths for a long while and the tea is long cold.

.

.

.

* Two years for two years.


	23. Entry 23

23.) 21 BBY

.

I did not find a special gift for Kal that night. But I was too tired to go on searching. So I am happy that finally, finally I have _some_thing to show for my efforts. I save the chart, double save it and put a copy into a safety box. I would love to call Kal and tell him all about it, but it is not safe. Nothing is safe, he told me and I keep to that.

Instead I wait impatiently for Kom'rk. He's my lifeline to the galaxy. The war is still raging but the longer it takes the more time off he has, or so it seems to me. I started off with a relatively small amount of genetic data. It took some time to analyse and systematise it all. It was a laborious task and took ever so long. But once I had the system implemented, adding more data became easier.

Kom'rk looked at the system, took a copy along and a few days later a small parcel arrived. It contained a system like the one I had in mind. And that was amazing, because I had hardy managed to make it work the way I wanted when I put it into code. There was small note, handwritten too by Kom'rk telling me his brother Jaing had designed it for me.

At times like that I wished I could write back. But I do the next best thing which was stocking up on cake and cookies for his next visit. I make sure to get some extra for Jaing. He was nice when I met him in Kyrimorut if distanced. And he did not drop in again while I was there. I install the new system and wonder how they can all be so brilliant and black.

Kom'rk shrugs. He doesn't notice. Maybe he's a little twisted and bent into a different shape than other people, but what does he care? He scrutinises my findings and smiles. "And the plan is to change the redox signalling?"

I nod. "If we can dechelate some of the protein the following kinases could have a positive effect on the proliferation of the cells." I point at the chelates I have in mind. "If they set superoxide free it might just lead to the kind of redox signalling we want."

He studies the charts and puts histone at the top of my experiments list. "Might as well start optimistic," he says and rubs my shoulder.

I have done a good job. I grin up at him. I didn't feel that good forever. I lean back and feel his ribcage against my head. "It is not much." But it is all I need. His eyes are deep brown and his hand is warm on my shoulder. I ignore the tingling red at my feet. He is younger than me and older and overall wiser.

But his eyes are black as he looks down on me. "It doesn't solve the underlying problem, but it could buy us time." His thumb wanders up my neck and I remember with my eyes closed.


	24. Entry 24

24.) 21 BBY

Kom'rk visits regularly. There has not been such a deluge of information again. But a constant trickle of data is coming in and most of it is delivered in person. I like it.

Kom'rk smiles. "It's just not safe."

He is probably stealing secrets from the government. I don't care. I pick the datacard from his hand and the skin of my fingers scrapes against his. I smile. "It is safe with me."

"I know." His hand closes around mine.

I like his visits. He tells me what is going on in the galaxy. His brothers are hunting for data and other vital information. The black one, Vau, is back and helping on and off. I need to thank him, too, some day. I touch my temple and smile.

"We will soon have more data than you can ever look into." Kom'rk is happy despite my failing efforts. "You are doing your best. And who knows what you may stumble over any moment."

I like the way he insists I am useful. I feel detached again. Everybody is busy running around the galaxy and I am stuck on Ketaris sieving data. There is no want for money anymore, there won't ever be again and should I need to buy a planet. I do not want a planet. I want to stop time. Sometimes.

We sit together, almost huddled and watch the latest experiment simulation play out. His shoulder touches mine and I feel the heat of his body. I wonder if they emanate more heat because everything is going twice as fast for them. I glance over to him and he catches my eyes and smiles.

The simulation end unsatisfactory and we discuss the adjustments. After some preliminary successes the redox signalling posed more problems than results. There seems to be no way to control the dechelation and the resulting radicals. I am ready to give up and try something new, but he is not.

"You are doing a good job." He doesn't call me _ad'ika_. He doesn't call me _vod'ika_. He also does not call me 'little one' anymore. I wonder what he thinks when he doesn't call me anything at all. His eyes rest on me. I like his eyes when they seem almost black.

"I wish." And I wish to simply rest my head against his shoulder.


	25. Entry 25

25.) 21 BBY

All the secrecy in the galaxy was not enough. I stare at the screen and the face upon it. I have not seen it before. He is adamantine though to talk to me about my research. I wonder how he knows all the details. I try to waive and hedge but he won't have any of it.

"I know you are researching the deceleration of cell ageing," he tells me. "It is not that I object, Ms. Nuh, not the least, let me assure you. There are those fanatics out there which claim that any intrusion into the course of nature will lead to disaster, but I am not one of them."

He smiles and means to be reassuring. I feel something cold creep up my back but it is not red the least.

"On the contrary, I want to offer you help."

I look at him and don't know how to react. "What would be the conditions?"

He smiles again and it is no more pleasant than before. "That your research does not stop where it currently ends. The deceleration is a fine goal, Miss, but only a step on the road I am seeking."

I incline my head. Another madman on the quest for everlasting life and youth. Haven't I met them before. "How can I be sure that you will not interfere with my current projects," I ask him. "I am not sure the work I do now will benefit your wishes any."

"I am willing to leave you to your game for now," his eyes are intent. "My sources imply that you might not need to work in that line for much longer. But after that, I want to be assured of your complete cooperation."

Alarm bells ring in the back of my head but I smile. "You know more about that then I do in that case. But if you are willing to wait, I will gladly help your endeavours."

He nods. "I see you soon then, Miss Nuh," he says, "to discuss the details of our arrangement."

And then the screen is blank. I want to call Kom'rk, but I never know where he is. I don't know where any of them are. So I get back to work instead and hope that he will be here before Visinic Murtode arrives. I want this cleared with Kal. I am not sure if it qualifies as an emergency. There's an emergency number to call of course. I stare at the screen and worry.

I try to pry meaning from the conversation. How can he know how long it will take me to find what I look for? But then, how can he know what I do at all? What are his resources? _Who_ are his resources? I pin down the words on flimsy, unwilling to convey them to the technology which seems not trustworthy any longer where secrecy is concerned.

Then I stare at the data again and wonder how my approach would lead to the end of my research.

"If that is what he meant," Kom'rk objects looking at my notes, "he could be doing this research himself." He sounds grim. I put my hand on his arm. For a second it rests there before my past catches up with me.

"What else could he mean?" I stare at the screens which show my latest failures. And some small victories. Kal set me to work on the genome in a very different way and I always liked changing colours and details.

"The end of all worry about clones," he says darkly.

"Nobody could achieve that." I almost laugh but I see his face. He is serious. And if there are powers in the galaxy strong enough to worry Kom'rk about the existence of several million people - I don't dare finish the thought.

Suddenly his hand closes around my shoulder painfully. "You have to learn how to defend yourself."

I stare at him with blank eyes.


	26. Entry 26

26. ) 21 BBY 

The most difficult thing is not to freeze and give in to the crimson flood. The attempt at an encouraging smile looks fierce and frightful on his face. I try to shy back but his hand is around my wrist like a clamp.

"Once more," he insists and pushes my arm down between us.

I want to run, but I cannot. That is part of the exercise, though. That I should be able to run. I stare at the hand that is keeping me prisoner. It seems huge. He can close his fingers around my wrist easily. His hand is warm. He could probably break my wrist between his index finger and thumb. Maybe I cold break one of his fingers if I used both hands.

"It's not about strength," he tells me. "This is about agility and speed. Enough of those and you can take even me down." He is not really serious. He means I could take a man of his build down. I don't think anything can take Kom'rk down; or his brothers. He shakes my wrist softly.

I think about the movement real hard, then I yank my hand down and up against him again. His grip slips for a second. I stop and stare at him. He simply grins, his eyes saying 'I told you so' in capital letters.

I lower my captured wrist again, looking at it in amazement. And he turns it around indicating his fingers with his other hand. "Even if I can wrap my hand all around your wrist, where the fingers open, there is a weakness."

I nod and watch again as he bends my arms slowly. His fingers open as if by magic. He repeats the motion several times with our arms in different angles. Then he holds it between us again and I concentrate again. It is a fast flowing motion that leaves me flabbergasted as my wrist slips from his grip. I look from the free hand up to him and back.

I am free.

The correct reaction to that is probably not throwing your arms around your captor and teacher. But he doesn't mind and pats my back.

"This is just the beginning," he promises softly.


	27. Entry 27

27.) 21 BBY

.

Visinic Murtode is a thin man with a thin face and thin hair. He looks down on my along his long thin nose and shakes my hand with cold thin fingers. He looks around the room Kom'rk and I prepared as a kind of living room to receive guests in. I never had a room like that. It always seemed a wast of space.

But he sits down and reminds me of a spider folding itself up. He doesn't want anything, but I bring tea and biscuits anyway. That is good manners. Kom'rk has impressed the importance of manners in these dealings into me repeatedly. He knows more than I about my customer. And he thinks it better that way. I would not say he is afraid, because he never is. So I offer biscuits and the long fingers close around one of them like a mantis. Visinic Murtode also knows about being polite. He nibbles on the biscuit and makes small talk. I remember, and dearly wish for, Qail again. She could have done this better than me.

"You must understand that my employer wishes to stay invisible," he says with a thin voice. "This is not a matter to be taken lightly."

I nod and smile. Immortality never is. "I hope he knows that it is not really my field of expertise," I reply. "The current research aims at undoing a change, not changing the code."

Murtode lowers his biscuit like a weapon. "As yet, Miss Nuh. My employer also believes that your research will bring you into contact with knowledge you will need to help him." He looks at the small box placed on the table between us. "Anyway, your reputation precedes you. There are other, smaller matters which you can start on. My employer is confident that you will manage the desired changes easily."

Eyes and hair again. I wonder why people are so obsessed with that. When he has left, I open the box. There are a few datacards and the tasks written on real flimsy. The thin man said he would call again and check on my progress.

Kom'rk leans over my shoulder looking at the samples. It really is not much work and helps me to relax after researching on their ageing process. It takes but a little diligence to find the right clusters. DNA is easy. There are only a few components to it and almost as few atoms.

"It doesn't make sense," he tells me. I agree. There are worlds between altering the appearance and generating eternal life.

"Maybe he wants to gain my trust." I splice a part of the DNA on the screen. "Or there is more to this than he wants us to know." I copy the schematics and give them to Kom'rk. "It might be interesting to know who I am working on."

He turns the data over in his fingers and nods. "You be careful around him."

I can hear suspicion dripping from his voice, but he doesn't know anything for sure. "I will tell you everything," I promise.

But that is not nearly enough. I can see his worry. And then I realise that it is for me. I lower my eyes.

He is a big man and I feel heat coming from him as I stand in front of him feeling smaller than ever. How could I hope to ever hurt a man like that? But he smiles and talks about leverage and mean little tricks, his breath flowing down the side of my head.

I cannot hurt him, but as I try there is no need to fight the crimson.


	28. Entry 28

28.) 21 BBY

.

Visinic Murtode is making visits a regular affair. He is a neat and methodical man, his long fingers wander over the side of my screen as I show him the first results. He nods his thin head on his long neck.

"How far have you come with my employer's other request?", he wants to know.

"I was not aware I was to start on it already," I reply. "My other work still has priority."

He looks at me as if I was a very interesting mutation about to be deleted. "My employer might not be very understanding."

I scowl. "I told him that I will finish my other project before I start on his. I told him to ask somebody else if he didn't like it."

"You may not understand the position you are in." He watches me over the tips of his finger. "Your say in this might be smaller than you realise."

Kom'rk insisted on politeness so I do not tell Murtode to stick it where the sun is unlikely to shed light. I also don't offer to change that by means of a chainsaw. Instead I fold my hands neatly on the table. "Your employer knew my conditions. I stated them plainly, I will stand by them and I will not change them." I look straight at Murtode, never blinking once. "If he decides to hear things I have never said and expects me to adhere to that, I might be rather unhappy about it."

"You are paid good money for your work," he replied.

But I shake my head. "I _will_ be paid good money, which is something completely different. It means you do not own me." I indicate the datacard he is holding. "That is finished work."

Murtode inclines his head, but keeps looking at me as if I will be gone from the face of the planet any second. I decide not to do him that favour and offer him some more tea instead. He declines. "You live a dangerous life, Miss Nuh. Be careful your friends do not facilitate your downfall."

I raise the cup to my lips and drink a tiny bit of tea. This, also, is polite. I prefer to have tea from big, sturdy mugs and in huge gulps. I think, I am not cut out for polite.

"You shouldn't have said that," Kom'rk scolds when he watches the tape. He is never around when Murtode visits. It would be easy since the agent is punctual like clockwork, but Kom'rk says it is a trap. He is supposed to be here and trapped. They want to find the connection I have to Kal's clan. We are not willing to give that up.

I hold very still as he reaches out around me and his arm brushes against my shoulder. I don't want to give that up either. I feel his eyes on me as he tries to read my reaction. I try not to have any and keep my eyes on the screen.

"This looks promising," I call up some charts. He listens as I try to explain. I have even given up on simple words. His memory makes it unnecessary to repeat myself.

His hand brushes against me again as he enlarges the molecules. I marked the differing sections and he studies them. It is but one of many anomalies all the samples share. It is tedious to work through all the scientific material published that could help disentangle their function. I wished I was faster.

My nose is pressed hard against the floor. Again. And again I wished I was faster. Or not. His fingers curl tightly around my wrist, his hand pressed against my back and all is fine. I smile into the pain of my nose.

"This will not do." He whispers into my ear. He is right. I know and he knows but I know no help. And this is nice in its painful inevitability. He knows. He loosens his grip and the pain recedes. For a moment all is fine. His hands are the back of my head, on my back, warm. I close my eyes and ignore the tugging. The past is past and this is the thread of the future.

But the crimson won't be ignored. I keeps running up my spine like some snake, like venom just under my skin unable to go anywhere. I try to get a way from the touch, squirming against the cold floor. This is not right. My muscles go taut in the anticipation of the small pains, a claw is raking through my head making thought impossible.

I start to squirm and for a moment he just keeps holding me down. The crimson burns my back while the cold of the floor tries to creep under my skin. Then I am free and up on my feet within a heartbeat. We look at each other. He looks sad. I am sad. I look at my feet.

"Once again," he says and holds out his hand.

Nodding I take it. It is all I can do.


	29. Entry 29

29.) 21 BBY

There are three constants in my life: research, Murtode and Kom'rk. Both men show the same degree of determination, though I really wished Murtode would not. He is pushy. His employer is a jerk. I made my point and told my conditions. If he doesn't like it, that is his problem. I am not for sale. And if I was, I know exactly who I'd sell myself to.

"I want to touch you," he says. His hands lie around my face.

I look up at Kom'rk trying to feel panic and elation at the same time and failing. I put my hands over his not sure if I just want to feel his skin against my palms or pry him away. His hands yield easily under mine as I stand on tiptoe breathing a kiss over his lips.

For a moment everything is still. His hands are fast around my hips lifting me up to his height as if I was made of plastifoam. I wish this could last forever, but even with my feet not touching the ground the crimson licks at my toes, clutches at my calves and thighs. I start to squirm in his grip, unhappy about it and unhappy about being unhappy.

Slowly he lowers me back to the ground but he doesn't let go. He takes my wrists and my hands vanish under his and he keeps looking into my eyes. If only it was enough to ground me here and now. I pull at his grip, knowing I can't possibly free myself. But when he lets go I still know that and manage, barely, to trail the tips of my fingers over his palms as my arms snap back and around me.

I hold on to myself, trying to breathe regularly, biting my lip and cursing my past. And he can't even hold me. I know others do it, that it calms down, gives security and comfort. If you are not me. He can only look and I can only curse and cry.

He leaves in the early morning when all my curses are spent. I see him off with a smile because I have nothing else to offer. I am rewarded with one of his hard-edged smiles. I treasure it with the others.


	30. Entry 30

30.) 20 BBY

Patience is a virtue, especially in molecular biology. I sit and stare angrily at my screen. I have identified the differing sequences. Jaing's system is doing wonders for comparing them and I like it a lot. I told Kom'rk to say thanks again. It is really useful.

He brought more data. Loads of it. There was a smile on his face reaching from the core to Wild Space. I like it when he is happy. And I like when I can contribute to it.

"Halfway through," I tell him indicating the files. There are a lot of anomalies to look into. I still wished I had some unaltered data. It would make things easier as I could preclude some of them. Or so I hope. But I will work with what I have.

"Any of them obviously connected to the ageing process?" Kom'rk wants to know.

I point out a couple of sequences. "H-seventy-eight-b and H-eighty-eight, that's where I worked before so the probability is high." We both know that finding the sequences is just preliminary work. The coding of them is what really matters. But the more I get done the better. The closer I get to the goal, the less they will have to do. And they are so busy lately. Even Kom'rk's visits seem scarce.

Looking up at him I want to memorise his face because I don't know when he will be back. The knife lies in my hand as if I was to carve his face into memory. He shows me how use it and my attempts all fail. But he is patient as always and the knife is mine.

He is so close that I can feel his pulse beating against my skin. "_Iviin'yc'shya_," he whispers and my vision turns crimson. I thrust the knife against him viciously, but he is Kom'rk and there is not much I can do. Still I feel it tear something and then he his over me, the knife skittering away across the floor.

His right hand closes in over my throat, ready to crush my windpipe any second, his left still grips the wrist of my knife hand. His eyes are on black fire and I can see where my knife has cut his shoulder. Blood is pooling there, slowly and tentatively falling down on me.

"_Ni ceta_." The words form somewhere in my throat and find their way past his fingers. They relax a little and I feel myself crying.

His hand moved away from my throat gently, slowly slipping down towards my collarbones. But he doesn't stop there but inches his way down until he cannot fail to feel the starting rise.

I try to move away, writhing my shoulders against the ground as the red flood sloshes against me. But with a sudden he bends down and kisses me. I squirm as the crimson creeps up my legs and fills me with small pains. But he keeps me down. My mouth is on fire, but the crimson does not go away.

He gets up holding me close and showers me with words of black ash. It falls around me like a curtain, shutting out the crimson slowly. I shiver and hang on to the whispers as they cut into my hands like wire pulled too taut.

When I am calm again, Kom'rk lets go and puts me back in front of the screen. Is it strange that work can keep me sane so easily? I smile at him. But I am beat and broken inside, squishy and sore.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* faster

* I apologise, more like 'I grovel'.


	31. Entry 31

31.) 20 BBY

.

The new data is amazing. It is so structured and everything you could imagine you might need for the research is there. I cannot believe it and shake my head. But the images stay the same, the charts and tables and schematics in four dimensions.

I did not ask where he got it. I never ask and he smiles and looks at the screen over my shoulder. "Going good?"

I nod. "Faster than ever, though that is still slow." I wished I was faster. Though I know what it did to him and his brothers I wish for perfect recall so I could be faster no matter what it'd do to my sanity. They're running out of time and I am so damned slow.

At least the material I work with is fast. It grows like weed and globs of something not human evolve in the small dishes. But it doesn't have to. That it should grow so fast is all I need to know. Another sequence change unsuccessful. Of course I expect nothing else. DNA is complicated and one simple change won't affect much.

But I have to be thorough. I need to exclude the mere possibility. A check on the negative test is one small piece of certainty gained. There are so few of them. I concentrate on finding recessive traits. The change had been manufactured for reasons and one precaution against the products simply walking off and producing more products had been putting the changes in recessive genes.

I hate thinking like that. It is reasonable and abominable. At least, should any clones ever get around to have kids, those would be fine. I wonder for a moment what kind of woman would want a husband ageing twice as fast as her. But maybe that was not really important. Looking at the clones, I know what kind of woman would want such a man.

Globs of cells get washed down the drain the the dishes are disinfected and sterilised for another round of experiments. I work with little thought of anything but the next series of experiments, the next small change and the results that will get washed down the drain after extermination. Certainty in tiny doses, and only things that do not work. I have to keep telling myself that it is contributing too. If only I was better at believing it, too.

"You are doing fine." Kal's voice over a vidless link. "We are getting other opinions, and they all agree with your general outline. Just keep at it, ad'ika."

I nod and feel comforted for the time we talk. His voice has that kind of effect. I believe him when he says I am doing fine. But as soon as he is gone, I stare at the monitors, and globs of tissue and wonder what the frag I am doing. Yes, single switch changes are all tested negative now, but I don't feel accomplished. I have worked out a matrix of all possible combinations, but every computer could have done the same.

"Only you can evaluate them for us and set up a hierarchy," Kom'rk says. "You know what we are looking for."

He does not say 'you know what I am looking for', but I know it anyway. I make my hand linger against his cheek, even when he puts his own over it. "I will find it," I say with more conviction than I have.

He smiles and knows. And as his lips brush my palm, I fight against the crimson in my head.


	32. Entry 32

**Author's note:** This might be a bit on the xplicit side. You did read the first chapters, but I jiust thought I'd give you a warning.

There is also another add-on filed in 'Trinkets. I didn't knwo where to put it...

* * *

32.) 20 BBY

.

I don't know what they did to him. He was taut and strained when he arrived, as if a string inside him had broken. I don't know how to mend it. I keep feeding him sweet tea and uj. He smiles but I can see that his eyes are somewhere else. "You are the last hope," he says and the weight pulls me down.

I had not know there was somebody else working on the problem, but in retrospect it seems only logical. I am not good enough to solve this. I can only sort and arrange. Now there is only me. I can feel myself drown in the responsibility. It is too much. How can I hope to save them all? I can't even safe myself.

Even the nightmares are back. His voice echoes through the laboratory and all my walls. There is a pang in my shoulder but I go anyway. There is no way I cannot not go. Standing in the frame of the door and flooding his room with light I call, but he doesn't hear. My shoulder remembers painfully the last time I tried to wake him. A different approach is needed.

I pull my arms close before me and throw myself at him. My head bounces of his chest, but not far, as arms like clamps close around me. I keep calling his name to wake him, but it is difficult with my face pressed against him. I tap my fingers against his chest, I scratch a little bit because I don't really dare surprise him.

And then he wakes up and looks at me with black eyes. "Tera?"

Before I can answer he turns over and I find myself pinned under the big man looking up into those eyes that tell me something I cannot explain.

"Tera." His lips come down upon mine and I feel crimson slosh around my toes but there is nothing to be done. He breathes my name into my mouth.

His lips leave a thin trail of black fire down my throat and his hands move down my sides, leaving trails of their own. And then they come up again, bringing the shirt of my pyjamas with them and I whimper but his mouth has pinned me down, trickling black fire into me.

He pushes the shirt over my head and I cringe as his hands run slowly up my arms, lifting them over my head and then his mouth catches my throat again, finding its way down my collarbone with little black marks in a crimson sea. I try to free my hands from the sleeves, but there is crimson all around me. I cannot concentrate.

Then a small black pinpoint of fire comes to life as his lips close around it. I freeze, frightened by the reaction of myself, holding very, very still and his hand closes around another point of fire and breathes air into it. I want to cry, but there is no breath in my lungs. I gasp and try to push at him. My tangled hands come down over his head, pulling him even closer and he spreads the fire over me in black lines.

His mouth is closing in over mine again, tasting of sweet ash and black desire. I want to scream as the crimson flood crashes into my back, but he holds me tightly, and his hands move down again. I writhe under the crimson pressure, swallowing the black breath full of my names and saving air. His skin burns against mine and his hands close around my hips and there is no place to scream.

I am split open and the crimson flood washes over me. I cannot scream, my mouth still closed firm and black, but I writhe, cringe and feel his black pressure against me. There is no way to flee and I cannot hold back the flood, split and helpless, unable to cry even.

"_Haa'tayli ni_," he says into me and I open my eyes, scared and wide, the crimson drowning me and his black pressure. His eyes are still black and burning into me, making a small space free of crimson and then he finds his way to stop the flood, pushing black fire into me. I want to scream but the fire washes over me and there is but a sigh and I buck earning a groan in return as he fills my mouth with black words and sweet ash again.

I manage to break my hands free, reaching for his shoulders, a a tentative counterpoint to his determined approach as he has found his way and advances confidently. His lips find my throat and he locks them there as if he can breath the black fire directly into my veins. For a while I simply burn in the double beat of my heart and him.

The crimson flood is receding as he pushes the fire into me, deeper and up, and I can feel my ribs tingle and my skin burns prickly up my sides. I have arms again, brushing against him and feeling the soft scorch of skin and sweat. His hands cup the black pinpoints of fire again connecting them to the rest of my body and sounds escape me as his thumb softly graze over them, setting everything alight.

I float between flood and fire detached and segregated, crimson below black above and filling me. My back arches as I feel ready to burst, but the fire keeps washing over me, wave after wave in a relentless rhythm, burning away the remnants of red. I hold on to him, tightly as the world explodes in cleansing white so bright I have to scream. I cannot see; blinded until I realise I just have my eyes closed.

The world is dark and silent but for our breathing. His lips graze my temple and there is no crimson left to lurk. "_Ne'ba'slana_," I whisper. "_Vurel draar._"

And he kisses my hair and whispers black ash into it.


	33. Entry 33

33.) 19 BBY

.

.

I wake up against a body not mine. I blink a few times for the newness of feeling, but nothing happens. I look over the chest I lie against, watch the steady rise and fall of his breath and know he is not asleep. As if to confirm my suspicion, he puts an arm around my shoulders. And nothing else happens. I smile wondering into how long six hours of sleep translate if you live as fast as he does. His heartbeat seems restless, racing away under my head.

The hand tightens around my shoulder. I let my lips graze against his skin and realise that I can do that. Biting my lip, I put my arm over his waist because I can do that. His lips move against my hair as my fingers trail the outline of his hipbone. I realise I can do that. I can do anything I want. And then I realise, I have never really had a look at a man.

I hoist myself up and stars sparkle in the black night of his eyes as he catches my glance and returns the smile. His cheeks are rough with stubble and his hair is soft, yielding under my fingers like expensive fur. There are lines in the corners of his eyes when he smiles. I trace them and his jaw and the soft skin of his forehead.

The veins at his throat pulse like living beings that go into hiding under his collarbones. I trace his arms, and no matter what say say about being fundamentally the same, he is not like me at all. In his hand mine seems tiny and where he can close his fingers around my wrist easily, I need both hands to hold his. There seem to be no straight lines about him, the curves of muscles play all over his body. I didn't know humans had so many muscles. They all seem visible on him.

His skin is soft, scarred in some places and warm. I lay my hand on his chest and it feels as if energy is moving through his skin and mine right from his heart into my hand. I put my face against his chest and listen to the rhythm of his heart, beating almost twice as fast as mine, but not really. His hand comes to rest on the back of my head, burying his fingers in my hair.

Tentatively I push against it and he yields. I feel his fingers slowly moving down my neck, coming to rest between my shoulder blades. He is indulging me. I can feel it in his eyes. As if it was the most normal thing in the world that I should kneel next to him examining what I got. I realise I love him. I realise that he he knows when I look at his face.

I lean down and place a kiss between his collarbones, just where they don't meet. I let my lips trail a direct line upwards towards his mouth and he simply arches back his head. It is not submission as I place ultimate trust up his throat with smiling lips. His hand moves down my back as if there was nothing on it and doesn't come to rest where it ends. I have a life time of lack and he is living twice as fast as normal men.

He leaves with a smile on his lips that will make my heart miss a beat until I die; I am sure of it. It would even now, as I am reduced to almost nothing but human rubble. The mere thought of that smile makes me grin. There are things they cannot take from you again. Not ever. And I cling to them because it is all I have left.

That night I felt strangely lonely as I curled up under my blankets. Not quite lonely. I thought of my face against his skin, arms enfolding me and clung to the image until I fell asleep.


	34. Entry 34

34.) 19 BBY

.

He arrives with that smile that makes my heart jump. And he knows it.

The spring is back in his steps and I can see plans he can't tell me about in his eyes. I put my research into his hands. Finally something worth all the work and worry.

"The tests will take a few months," I say. Proudly I show off the rows of Petri dishes. Kom'rk doesn't come alone. He brings his brother Mereel who is really into this matter. I love discussing the results and further proceedings with him. His mind is overtaking itself. In that he reminds me of Kom'rk. But he is also such a sweet-talker.

"Aw, come on," he slaps my shoulder playfully. "It'll stay in the family." His grin is huge and impossible to resist; I burst out laughing. It never gets boring with Mereel around but I have to be careful he doesn't gobble down all sweets and there's some left in case Kom'rk does drops by.

"Has he been annoying you again?" he asks. "Hopeless philanderer." He glares at Mereel pretty convincingly.

"You have no idea how much." I rub my cheek against his arm. "He keeps correcting my research. It's impossible. I am sure he wants my job."

Mereel snorts. "You wish, _vod'ika_."

Sometimes I really do. Murtode is getting ever more annoying.

"I could clone him for you, than you can kill a few of him to relax." Mereel is dead serious.

It scares me. Sometimes he just scares me out of the blue, but he doesn't even notice. Brilliant and black, brilliantly splintered black. I cannot look at him and play with one of the Petri dishes instead. "Thank you, but I don't feel like killing somebody."

He gives me one of those looks saying that I am the crazy one here, not him. Maybe he is right. "You hide behind the impersonal approach of using bioengineering," he says. "It'll kill somebody eventually."

I am afraid it is true. And I have thought of it. Sometimes, alone in the cold nights thinking of Kom'rk and sometimes, in his arms thinking of a dead man in crimson armour. Lives have been compromised and sometimes I feel like lashing out and paying back with interest.

But I am still here and so is Kom'rk. I kiss him goodbye until Mereel makes a snorting noise. But I don't know when I will see him again. It is always too long. I stand on tiptoe and kiss Mereel's cheek. "You take good care of him, won't you?"

He ruffles my hair and laughs.  
Then they are gone again.


	35. Entry 35

35.) 19 BBY

Now Mereel visits more often than Kom'rk. On a purely productive scale this is sensible. He knows a lot about bioengineering and he's been at it only so very shortly. I am amazed each time he returns and has puzzled something together I have been puzzling over for months. It might have frustrated the scientist in me if my interest in the project had not been so very personal. As long as it gets solved, I do not care who does it. The sooner the better.

"This is the right track," he points at a sequence. "We will combine it with the recessive traits at Nine-A."

"Did Fourteen-B get ruled out already?" I want to know. Parts of the research have been outsourced. Partly to get more opinions, partly to speed up the process. Sometimes, I wonder if they forget to tell me things. But usually it is not things I need to know. Sometimes it worries me that there are things I don't need to know.

"Not yet, but it doesn't look promising." Mereel calls up a few charts and we look at them in disappointed silence. "Kom'rk will be back soon," he says into the silence. "Things might get a little hasty soon after that."

I do not ask. But I will save progress even more often, secure it in triplicate. Stash it away in places strong enough to survive the destruction of Ketaris. I make sure the data will be useful even after that and should the incident include my own death. They need the data more than me.

Except maybe Kom'rk who holds on to me like a drowning man surfacing from another nightmare I cannot keep away. But his smile when he finds me at the end of the terror tells me that it is more than he expected. I run my fingers along his temples. I cradle his head to my chest. I recite the progress we made. Until we all asleep again and only the greying morning disturbs the silence.

"Not much longer." He kisses me goodbye and I am thinking of a small place on a faraway planet, snow-covered and ready to take me in again. Sometimes Kom'rk calls from there and I see the walls of Kyrimorut behind him and all is well. This is what I am working for.

I smile and can laugh with him. Sometimes people pass in the background, there was a clone shaky on his legs, a woman at his side. Kal passing with thunder on his face or a spring in his step. And the black one, Vau, not reacting to my waving and little smile of thanks. He's not social, Kom'rk shrugs. That's okay. I don't think many of us are.

Mereel sure is and his voice can chatter away a day on Ketaris, talking about everything he can tell and never slipping a single word he mustn't. "Good job, _vod'ika._" He slips the latest update into one of his many pockets. "This is something we have been looking for."

I am happy. We are making progress. And he keeps assuring me, as Kom'rk does, that it won't be much longer. I keep the laboratory in order. I am ready to leave on a call.


	36. Entry 36

36.) 19 BBY

The call never comes. I stand in the laboratory with another disappointment on my hands and face. I close the last of the datastorages and stare at my failure that is growing too fast. Much too fast, always too fast.

The door opens and a group of t-visors appear. Only when I realise those are not the right colours, do I look again. No, those are not _my_ vode. Blasters are pointed at me, a crimson armour takes the lead. I grab a datacard, almost invisibly, sneakily and try to hide it. It is precious. It contains white noise and red herrings, artfully compiled by Mereel. Mereel, who should be standing in that door poking good-natured fun at Kom'rk who was still hunting prey hidden too obviously somewhere.

The leader sees it and I can feel his gaze on my hand through the helmet. He has found what he was looking for, all of it. I do not smile. I keep my face unmoved. Mereel will not come. But when he does, he will find the last data safe and secure. I do not smile. I face the crimson leader and wait.

"We are here to bring you to your new laboratories," he says. "Your research here is done."

I look at them and around. I am far from done here and we all know it. "Did Murtode send you?" I want to know.

He snorts. "Murtode is but an henchman. We have orders from his boss. So pack up kid. We're leaving."

"I am not." I cross my arms in front of me. "I am not finished here and I am not leaving."

"Do you like being alive?" He threatens. "Because then you better do what we say."

"If I am dead, I can't work at all," I counter. "It's a risk I am willing to take."

He seems surprised. Maybe he didn't expect much of an opposition. But his helmet does not scare me. With a shrug he fires into the main computer. The screen breaks and sparks sizzle through the room. He fires again and the processors stop. "Oops."

I spit and manage to hit his visor dead centre.

Slowly he levels his blaster at me. "Order form the boss. You work for him - or you stay with us for a while - until you do."

"You cannot afford my kind of accommodation," I state. I will not be moved. If they insist, they need to do their dirty work themselves. Not that they have a problem with that. There is a soft click and the world explodes in blue fire.


	37. Entry 37

37.) 19 BBY

When I wake up, I am not in my laboratory anymore. I could be anywhere; a small room with no windows can be found everywhere. My hands are tied before me, but the cuffs are tight and allow for no real movement. When I try, they cut into the skin. I bleed. Nothing new there.

Nothing happens for a long while. Is it night? Is everybody asleep but me? Or are they just biding their time? I cannot know. There is no light from the outside. I can never know. And I must not believe what they tell me either. The truth has to be inside me. There is no other truth, nothing real but what I brought with me.

I can wait. I keep still and make no fuss. Let them think me meek. I am not thirteen anymore. I close my eyes again and begin the long wait. It is said to be the hardest part, to wait until something, most likely dreadful, happens to you. I never thought so. I think the most dreadful part is when something dreadful actually happens and there is no place inside your head to hide. I make space. I empty out corners of it that went unused for a long time.

I put memories of Kom'rk into the nooks and niches. I place trust there, and the knowledge of all the results I had in my head and the experiments that were running and how much time it would take to repeat and where my documentations ends and if Kom'rk will find the files. If the Ketaris is still there he will find them.

He's Kom'rk, I trust him.

I love him.

And then there's Mereel. He is more into the matter than me even. He will work something out. He will stop their fast ageing. Even if I won't make it back again, they will have their triumph in the end. This I must believe. I did all I could. This is not about me. They will get along just fine without me. This might just be the end. I will wait. They have nothing to threaten me with, because I know it all already.

Still, they talk, they taunt. They destroyed all the samples and experiments. I want to scream hot anger at them, but I show nothing. If I show them where it hurt, they will only prod harder. So I let them talk and I let them threaten and listen to their demands and say no word. This is my head and there is no space inside of it for them.

They try to make some space. With words first, but those words have no power over me. I would laugh, but why show them anything? Don't let it show. Let nothing show. Let them talk. Then they turn to beating space into my head, cutting and bleeding it. But those are pains I know. They don't scare me.

Murtode seems to be out of the equation completely. His name is never mentioned. They talk of their boss, the real and only power in the galaxy. He wants my work, my research, my compliance. Well, no, sir. I respectfully decline to be manhandles into that box. Been there, done that. Kill me, if you must, but don't expect me to cooperate to my imprisonment again. I don't care if the cage is golden and life carefree.

I close my eyes and think of Kom'rk. Some things they cannot take away. You just have to know it.

There is a surprised exclamation as they finally venture into more physical attacks and rip my shirt off. I straighten up and as one of them spins me around. I come within inches of his visor before I catch myself. I stand, staring at him, raising my chin a little higher. I know them. I know all they can do to me. A predatory smile creeps onto my lips.


	38. Entry 38

38. ) 19 BBY

My hands are cuffed behind my back, pulled into a tight, painful angle. I would still smile like a wolf if my lip was not burst, swollen and crusted with blood. No, they did not like that. But they are holding back. I don't know why and I am not sure I am grateful. The worst fear is the fear of fear.

My head is pulled up and find myself staring up into the visor of that crimson armour. It would be more intimidating if there was no black smile on my heart. But there is and the crimson stays a colour on plates that have taken a wrong turn.

"_Aruetii_," I spit at him.

The back of his hand catches me across the face. Another of the easier pains as skin rips and a wet trickle starts down my face. I'll live. And they won't. But they don't know it yet.

They still have not touched me. Oh, they beat me and repeatedly and with quite some enthusiasm, but they do not lay their hands on me. I wonder what they are waiting for.


	39. Entry 39

39.) 19 BBY

They try to hurt me here and now, but that doesn't really work. They are preceptive enough to realise that. And they watch out for the little signs, the way I wince when New Crimson approaches just after another beating. They see my back and far back.

They try to hurt me in the past now, dropping words of putrid red and calling for me in the language of deluge.

"_K'olar_."

I cannot allow them the power over me but the big pains show my small reactions. He laughs because he knows he found a way to creep back under my shell. His gloved hands hold my face painfully tight. "_Ner cuy_."

The smile of the wolf is gone and I cannot find it anymore.

"_Shi sirbu haar miit_," he taunts me, but I know it is a lie. If I say yes they will not let me go, they will just let me work. I don't even know if they will stop the pain. I do not need to be whole to work, I need my head and fingers, but that is all.

New Crimson decides the time to wait was over. It is not as if there was much of a shirt left over to start with. But he loosens the cuffs a little, pries my arms apart so he can appreciate the thing on my back fully. I dare not roll my relieved shoulders. He outlines the thing on my back with a gloved finger humming to himself.

"I have leave to do to you whatever necessary to ensure your compliance," he purrs into my ear.

I wonder if he feels at least slightly inconvenienced. My face lies against the cold permacrete floor and he has to crouch beside me, bending his head all the way down to bring me those news that are none.

I feel the outline on my back and the soft clicking of a vibro knife springing from a knuckle plate. For a moment it hums against my skin, only a threat. But he pushes one hand under me and the tiny space between blade and skin is closed. I would feel the pain of it if I could, but small pains crawl down my chest. The crimson is flowing from my back which doesn't make sense because his fingers squeeze at the front. As I open my mouth it is flooded and I cannot breathe but gasp.

"I don't mind if you don't make it easy," he hums still. "I prefer this a lot to you sitting before some screen being all useful to somebody else."


	40. Entry 40

40.) 19 BBY

New Crimson is still mostly threatening. Yes, he is playing the game of the red pains, but he is just pretending. His hands imply and so does his leer, but he never takes off a single bit of clothing. I am not sure this reassures me. Maybe he is just biding his time. Maybe he is trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Maybe it is not important at all.

I lie on my stomach, always on my stomach now because my back becomes encrusted with the ground if I lie on it and I black out if they pry me loose. Sometimes I approve because the stink and pain make me faint. That is nice. Though they probably don't just stop when I black out. My back feels flayed and splintered, savaged and mauled. Sometimes that is nice, too because I can't concentrate on the crimson threats.

Threats, threats and more words. Words dripping of crimson. Even behind closed eyes I can see them hovering over me ready to pounce. I have forgotten time again, he is an elusive one. By now they realised they'll have to really break me, if they want anything. I am not sure they have the permission to do that. They waver, they try and then pull back from the edge of scattering as if afraid of the consequences.

So I endure. Sometimes I cannot remember why. Pinpoints of black hover at the edge of my vision, and darkness waits at the corners of consciousness. It is important and sometimes I know the name of the night waiting for me. He is elusive too, even though I tried to anchor him in the dark and hidden places of my soul.

This is taking too long. I am not that strong. I don't feel strong at all. Have I not been here before? I cannot live two years like this again. I want to give up. What else can I do? Holding on to only black wire vanishing into the night - how can it save me? But it is taut and keeps me taut, coiled somewhere deep inside where they cannot reach, but neither can I.

They still try to get me to work. Why? Why? Why? Shouldn't they give up? Who is pushing them to such deeds? Who scares them too much to go all the way or simply stop. I close my eyes because I cannot find an answer and the questions are easier to ignore in the darkness of my head.


	41. Companion Vig 2: Kom'rk

Kom'rk

.

"Since you have perfect recall, I have to make sure, I only give you good memories - memories worth having." She is dead serious about it despite the enormous grin on her face. And considering the memories since then - yes definitely making sure.

But I like this one.

That thin slice of person lying on top of me radiating happiness. Her chin propped up on those tiny fists of hers that rest on my chest, and such a smile. Her dark eyes light up, turning almost translucent; like expensive tea in even more expensive china. I like how happy she is.

Her skin is cool against mine. If I want to feel her chest rise and fall with her breathing, I have to hold her very tight. She is a tiny bit of person. When I saw her on the Jubilee Wheel for the first time, I wondered what Kal'buir wanted with such a kid. Her size always makes her seem impossibly young.

The night of thousand words - I might not have asked her, if she had not, for all in the galaxy, looked like a lost child. Sitting on the floor of my room and wiping her blood from it; thinking nothing about having her shoulder dislocated talking about small pains much worse.

I don't touch on that memory. It is painful, more so now that I am not looking at her as a tortured child anymore._ Those bastards almost took her apart_. I tighten my hold on her, almost able to cover the small of her back with one hand. She smiles and snuggles up to me, placing her cheek against my chest.

I lay my other hand around her neck. Slim like the rest of her, I could snap it between my fingers. She doesn't care. She rubs her cheek against me, stretches out to try the impossible and touch her toes against mine. Maybe she truly is the younger of us two, her first thirteen years lost and another two wasted. Or she is just making sure again.

It is the memory I draw upon when I realise – again - that she is not there. It is the memory that I call upon knowing we didn't find her yet. It is the memory I keep as a promise of the future when all other thought is centred around the a storm of violent revenge, blood drenched dreams of splintering bones, frayed flesh and broken limbs. Because we _will_ find her and then -

But I like this one.

That tiny slice of person smiling down on me with my whole future in her eyes.


	42. Entry   40

40.) 19 BBY

I do not bleed. I hurt all over, but I do not bleed. This is on purpose. There is only a thin layer separating the outside from me. Me, an accumulation of hard and pointy bits embedded in a lot of squishy pulp. Pulp even more squishy now, pushed and shoved around inside this breakable gauze in ways it wasn't supposed to.

The translucent skin turns opaque, dark, blue, purple, sore to any touch, sensitive, delicate, damageable. With thin fingers they stir patterns into the yielding surface, pushing the pain around.

"Solus miit," he taunts. "Shi solus miit."

The black smile is purple, dark and bruised and there is one word in my mind but it is not making much sense. Gauntlet. My eyes find it, crimson on brown. It is not making sense and his fingers push pain around on my bubbled skin.

"Ner cuy." The whisper pins me to the floor as he scrutinises my fingers diligently. He knows I need them should I break, but damage doesn't have to be permanent.

"You have such pretty eyes. You should not hide them behind those lashes." Small pains fill my face and don't make sense overall, they should be too small to matter.

"Naas ven'haa'tayli gemas olar." I can hear the smile in his hum. And I have too much hair, but not much longer. I didn't care I had hair on my arms. I wish I still didn't. Like long pins inserted backwards. One after another. He's right because nobody sees that hair.

I stretch my arm and wonder why there is so much darkness but no gauntlet to protect it. But why should there be one? I have forgotten. I stare in stupid wonder. There is something I have forgotten. I think.


	43. Entr y 40

40.) 19 BBY

I bleed blue pain. It has taken rather long, not sure how long, but any time seems long when spent in pain. So I bleed. It is a slow and sticky process, I can feel myself smear all over the ground. I didn't know one could extend like that.

But slowly the soft pain on my separating layer is opened, bit by bit and never so much that all of my consciousness could escape through it. I watch the dark gunk that was me once. I feel the barbs of fire stuck into my skin, hooked and pulled taut, pulled taut and then pulled taut until something rips. That tends to be me, I think.

Crimson watches with interest. I am like the experiments I conducted, on the other side of the glass, looking out of the putrid petri dish of my life. His vibro knife hums, like an angry bee humming me into an uneasy sleep that is a painful nightmare.

Dark crumbly pearls drop from my body and catch attention. The knife hums them into pieces, friable bits of former female. His glance rests on me.

"Solus miit," he repeats. "Shi solus miit."

I have no word for him. My mouth is dry; it tastes of blood, so how can it be so dry? When I try to close my eyes, he pries the lids open.

"_Haa'tayli ni_," he says and something rears up to cast him onto the ground. There are hands all over my skin, painfully impressing the shape of hands into me. I cannot stop them. I cannot stop me. The ground stops me.

He lifts my skin where the blue pain left sticky traces. His fingers probe my inside. They make space that where no space should be. But he places a shard of himself in it, a small splinter of metal, a tiny chip of the armour, a small crimson pain where no crimson pains should be able to reach.

"Pearls grow from dirt. Stupid mussels can do that, so can you, right?"

I can see the white growing, small bumps of white where the purple had been.

"Solus miit," he repeats. "Shi solus miit."

I know that word. It surrounds me slowly, hovering over me in red slices, cutting into my limbs like a thin cord of crimson glass, leaving lines all over my skin.

Aaray.

One word. But it is enough.

The split purple smile fades into forbidden crimson and I smile no more.

I wonder if there is something I forgot. Then I forget about it under the imminence of the one word, circling me on crimson wings.


	44. Ent ry 40

40.) 19BBY

I am the pain that tortures me. That I should still be here, that I should not have given up. I don't remember what that means, but it sounds promising. Give up. I have nothing to give, they have taken it all.

They break open the white, the pearls of pain, and empty their contents over me, over the floor, over their laughter. I know the skirting knife and the more I think about it, the less it is used. They come to an end. Or maybe I do. Could we ever agree on something?

He speaks in the crimson language, but I am too bound and broken to do anything. So I just let the red-hot words rip over me. They leave blazing trails on what is left of me. I know I am still here. Who else would feel this? So I must be here still. I think I am waiting for something. I can't remember what. What would a piece of pain wait for?

Obliteration.

Nothingness.

Black – something.

Maybe it will come to me again and then I will remember how to give up and what that means. I think I can still wait. To wait is just to be here and feel the pain and know I am still here to feel it, waiting for something that I can only know when it happens.

So I feel the pain and I wait. I watch their colours come and go. The pain only comes, it never goes. I wonder if one crimson intrusion would not be a blessing, snuffing out what is left to wait, because I know that it would be the last, the one unbearable invasion. The end. But it is the one irruption that doesn't happen. Everything else on me feels more than ruptured, breached, pierced.

A black spear driving through my memories and dark light showing who I am. I cannot stand it.


	45. Entry 41

41.) 19 BBY

The yellow one is new. I wonder if she is the girl from back then. She is furious and knows how to inflict pain. That is okay, I have a lot of experience receiving it. That only makes her more angry. She calls down dread on me but it doesn't come. I have nothing left to dread.

So she calls on the usual pains again. I wonder what they are trying to achieve. I am done for. If my work is worth anything, it is has to be worth something without me. I want to laugh, but it is just a chocked noise. Even if they have my research, all of it, they can never have Mereel. And he will sure find the answer I couldn't fathom.

Yellow doesn't care about breaking points, she is pushing me there. Slowly. Of course, slowly, where would be the fun otherwise? Does she realise I know? Maybe the slump of my body tells her. Maybe the effort I am not making anymore tells her. I am just waiting for this to be over - one way or another.

She snorts and insults me. That I am weak and worth nothing. That I am a waste of space and her time. That she doesn't care what the men do when she leaves.

Doesn't she realise, I don't care? I know all about men - truly all. They cannot frighten me, only hurt me. Been there, done that. The black wire anchored in my heart pulls taut and I get up again. I don't know why, because there is no need to face the end standing up when you'll die lying down repeatedly. But I cannot let her think me beaten. I don't want to go out scared and broken. I want to go open-eyed; seeing, knowing and - shaking?

I can feel the shaking of the ground. Small and brittle at first, scuttling footsteps of tiny paws shaking the floors softly. And in the way they hold themselves I see the advancing of footsteps long awaited. Dread is on them now. They know it. Time is running out.

Frenzy, parts of it directed at me, spreading. And the shaking growing, parts of it coming from me. I can hear the dull thuds that vibrate in my bones more than the structure around me. Dark booms of doom. Some of them leave, facing the approaching storm and drowning in it. I don't want to be them. The storm doesn't know what they did; it doesn't care.

It swipes through the place and the yellow woman looks at me. I cannot see her eyes but I feel her think. This was a mistake. But she cannot give in. I see her muscles work in the way the plates shift subtly. She doesn't want to go down alone. But you can't take me with you, not the place you're going to. I cower, curl up like a spring.

She doesn't take the bait. She is not that stupid. But she doesn't have to. There is not much I could do and none of it includes covering the space between her and me. Staccato fire hums in my sore muscles and approaches with the thud of heavy boots. My whole world shakes and her determination, too.

Then she comes at me, vibro knife ready to rob the intruders of victory. But she doesn't know me and I know all about pain. As she thrusts at my throat, I bury her knife in my shoulder, clean cut right under the collarbone. I drop, taking the knife with me and her too before she realises and lets go.

Automatically I reach for the knife and feel her boot on my fingers. Down, pushing me down and down, but there is no small pain ahead if I meet the floor, only the knife. I chuckle, because she doesn't know and I am not broken. With a final kick the hilt of the knife snaps my clavicle.

The door bursts open with shuddering walls and there is a surprised sound as she tries to turn around, and neatly cuts her own throat on a knife in the process. A storm is raging behind her. I pull at the knife. These are but the big pains that heal easily. And there is a storm coming ravaging all in his way. My fingers curl around the hilt, this is mine. I get up as the yellow woman is methodically reduced to nothing, whirled around helplessly in a storm of white anger. I approach it. The end is mine. I am still here.

He is radiating black fire and as his arms close around me the predatory smile returns to my flayed lips. The plates feel cold against my skin and I leave a red mark on his chest where my mouth is pressed against the armour. He doesn't have to say it.

He does so anyway. "_Su cuy'gar_."


	46. Entry 42

42.) 19 BBY

I can't let go of the knife. My fingers are curled around it and they don't open. I stare at it while the room fills with people. There's one in black. I hope it's the same from the first rescue. I try to smile at him. Maybe he saw, there's a short nod, angry. He leaves. There is another one beside Kom'rk. He wears gold but is not Kal. His visor scans me and he puts down his backpack.

"He's a good medic," Kom'rk says. His hand closes around mine and softly pries the knife free. I look at him only half understanding. He puts his hand on my chest just above my left breast. It comes off all bloody. I cannot take it with my left hand. I reach out with the right, there is no knife I it. I stare.

"This might be a bit painful," a voice behind me says. I turn around. The man has taken off the helmet. He smiles. In his hand he offers me a collection of pills. "Mij Gilamar; Mando, medic, man with a grudge."

I tilt my head to the side. He holds up a bottle of water with the other hand. "Painkillers anyone?"

I take them from him and swallow obediently. He picks something that looks like a big injector and starts spreading grey stuff over my bleeding bits. It is painful. I think. Not really. Like you can feel the cells divide and reattaching and skin closing and it is not pleasant but burning. He turns me around and does not follow the weld on my back but systematically covers cuts and burns from top to bottom.

Something cold clings to my left shoulder and I am turned again. He still smiles and gives me a piece of cloth. I look down shortly and put it between my teeth. The collarbone is held in place by something that looks like duracrete. But I can move a little. My left arm is mostly limp.

Kom'rk handles me into a jumpsuit. I smile at them and Mij returns it with a grim smile of his own. He has seen worse. He has done worse. He killed another man of the Death Watch and disposed of him in a river. I approve.

The companion did not approve when she found out. She was beyond angry and I wonder if there was something like love between them. And when she found one of Kal's family she taunted him with their futile quest and their last lost hope. She did not know she was wrong. And she taunted the wrong clan.

I can see the black rage in his eyes still and the sheer determination to annihilate everything that dared happen to me, everybody who dared think of making something happen to me. He puts the knife back into my hand, the left one now, and my fingers tighten. I took this knife. The blood on it is mine. This is mine.

"I have a present for you," Kom'rk says. He takes my hand and leads me away. "Acun Gedyc."

Acun Gedyc. That is the name of the man in crimson. Acun Gedyc. I let it roll over my tongue and through my head. The crimson is only on armour plates as I follow Kom'rk, my fingers bouncing off his knuckle plate. But I don't have to have a firm grip on the gloved hand. It clamps around mine fast.

Come to think of it, this is the first present he' ever given to me.


	47. Entry 43

43.) 19 BBY

This is how I leave my legacy.

With a blaster in my hand staring down at crimson armour. It might not be his and then again it might. This man might just be unfortunate to have inherited it or an actual relative. I cannot care.

A storm of black rage pulls the helmet off his face. He is just a man and his features resemble the crimson I remember only if I want to. Eyes look at me, black and shot with red. I level the weapon at his face and feel my black storm embrace me.

"He deserves all that and more." This whisper of wire is going all through my body.

"_Ner cuy_," I whisper back. "_Darasuum_." And I pull the trigger and the face explodes into crimson pieces before my eyes. I wipe bits of it from my skin and turn into my storm.

Maybe this will have them all breathing down our necks, but how bad can that be? Crimson is gone. I can close my eyes and listen to the words of black whispered into my hair, weaving themselves into my soul; filaments of fire, framework of future. I put my arm around him.

"_Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dar'tome._"


	48. Epilogue: Kom'rk

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the end of the story. Thank you for sticking around.  
I am a hopelss softy. Have soem Null ARC mush. ^.^'

* * *

Epilogue: Kom'rk

There is a litany reiterating itself in my head. Her voice like so many frozen nails, dropping on the ground around us in Kyrimorut. Simply touching upon memories of that memory is enough to make me angry. I want to be angry now.

She didn't look up the whole time. I don't think she could stop then, not once she started. Perfect recall is not a blessing, but the tiny voice lost in the kitchen of Kal'buir's house rings true inside my head. I thought of her as a kid then.

_I don't know how old I was._

It was too late for that. A lot too late, but didn't realise it. Within two years they took her whole past and most of her humanity. She could have eased it all, she knows now, she knew back then. Their way would have been her way.

_I didn't and then they did._

Sometimes her nightmares haunt my sleep but that is alright because it isn't my pain. It just makes me powerfully angry. The ideas some men get.

_I even had to clean the blaster. _

I know you can't drown memories in blood. But I have also learnt that you can drench them in blood and the taste of revenge. It helps. It doesn't make them good. It makes them bearable. There is a lot of blood ahead.

What I want – what I _really_ want to do is use the knife, feel skin and muscles tear under the blade and see the blood spurt out. To feel the snapping of bone under my fingers, increase the pressure on the them until they splinter, smash them to pieces between my armour and theirs.

Their screams die within their helmets audible only to those who will not want to know. There is nothing but the forward movement and the slashing of the blades. They deserve all that and more. Vau had suggested a more subtle approach; I understand the reasoning, but it wouldn't do. It just wouldn't. It would have been way to easy. There are only so many ways to kill a sleeping person and none of them is satisfactory.

That they should dare. That they should _dare_ and have a base on Taris. That they should dare to take her. That they should dare to keep her _here_. We sweep through the building, I know Vau and Mij split up behind me taking care of the corridors I discard. I have seen the plans of this place, and I know exactly where I would stash away prisoners.

The door opens and I can see Tera, covered in little else but blood and bruises a knife in her hand, broken bone poking through an open wound in her shoulder. Isabet Reau, her one boot covered in blood that should not be spilled, turns around but my fist is already up, vibroblades springing from the knuckle plate. She is dead before she can finish the turn. It doesn't matter. I have seen the blood on her and the look in Tera's eyes and the knife she holds. I have enough of an imagination to realise what happened.

Tera is not soft. She'd try to take the knife that is meant to take her life. And she did. I cannot tear my eyes of her as my hands tear through the seams of Reau's armour. Beskar does only so much when you wear separate plates. I know where the joints are. I know where _all_ the weaknesses are.

There is a heap of red and yellow debris lying at my feet as I finally pull Tera into my arms. It doesn't matter. There is only one thing that matters. "_Su cuy'gar._"

Vau and Mij enter, Vau taking a look at Tera and moving on, probably killing something. The way he holds himself speaks of extreme anger I have seldom seen it on him. But I cannot worry about that now. Mij patches her up, a bag of bones held together by determination and skin substitute. Her collarbone offendingly white in the dark red of her shoulder. She makes no noise as Mij sets it.

I takes some time to get her into the jumpsuit, her left arm doesn't work. Still she is not making a sound. If she feels the pain, she is way beyond the limits by now. Too bad they're all dead, I would have had something to say about this.

One of them is not dead yet. When I saw him, I knew, and Vau acknowledged with a nod. This is not about us. This is about her and this is what she needs. There is a mess in the room behind Vau that probably has been one person or more, parts of it still move. Unlike his face that is unmoved as always. He offers no explanations.

And I have more important things to do. Making a present, making a small attempt at setting old wrongs right in the only head that matters right now.

She takes the blaster and her hands are not shaking. We have to kill our own demons even if they return from the dead. "He deserves all that and more."

"_Ner cuy_," she whispers back. "_Darasuum_." Then she pulls the trigger. Once - only once. Wiping the splatters of blood and brain from her face she turns back towards me. It is just as well that she shot him. I put my arms around her. There are ways to deconstruct a human being into nothing but agony. I would have applied them all. But she is still here and they are not. I hold her tight enough to irrationally fear breaking her.

"_Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dar'tome._"


End file.
